


When It's All Over

by lostresidentevilpotter



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter
Summary: Of course, Al gets screwed again, only this time, it's because people have started eating each other. The end result is still the same: Al's left heartbroken and alone.Or, 5 times Al falls in love + 1 time she doesn't.





	1. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! Now that 5x05 has aired, I am dying to write. I thought this was going to be a one-shot sort of thing, but apparently, it's going to be fairly long, so I've decided to split it into chapters. It's Al-centric, and the first four chapters are all going to feature original characters since apparently I'm chronicling Al's life up until the present. I hope you enjoy it!

Al knows she’s different early on. She’s raised in a small town in rural Texas, all of her friends are boys, and when all the girls start talking about their crushes on the boys sometime in middle school, Al doesn’t get it. Well, she does, in a way. She understands the concept of liking someone – but liking a _boy_? She can’t figure out how these girls could possibly be interested in someone like Todd. Todd may be Al’s best friend, but he’s also a fucking idiot.

It’s seventh grade when Al shaves the back half of her first name off along with most of her hair. Althea becomes Al, and Al’s long locks disappear. Maybe if Al had friends that were girls, someone would pay her a compliment, but at lunch, Todd merely glances over and says, “That’s different,” through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. So yeah. Al has no interest in boys outside of completely platonic friendship. She learns eventually that just because she has no interest in boys that doesn’t mean boys have no interest in her, but in seventh grade, that isn’t really a problem yet.

The problem starts on the second day of school when Mrs. Olsen seats the new girl at Al’s table. Yesterday, Al had hit the jackpot. She’s the only kid in the class with a table to herself, and she got to set her backpack in the empty chair to her right, and she didn’t have to deal with an obnoxious neighbor. But today, Mrs. Olsen announces to the class that they have a new student who attended a different school for sixth grade, and the girl’s going to be sitting next to Al.

Al doesn’t bother to hide her disgruntled expression as she drops her backpack from the chair to the floor. She barely glances over as the girl sits down. She catches a flash of blonde hair, and Al assumes she’s one of _those_ girls. One of “those” girls meaning literally any other girl in the seventh grade. Because it’s a small town in the middle of nowhere Texas, so Al is the only girl with short hair, and she’s the only girl that shops in the boys department, and she’s the only girl that’d rather hang with the boys at recess instead of joining one of the many packs of girls that huddle together and whisper and giggle about all the cute boys. Because Al has determined that there are no cute boys, no matter what the other girls are saying.

“Althea,” Mrs. Olsen says.

“Al,” Al grumbles.

“I would greatly appreciate it if you could show Natalie around school today,” Mrs. Olsen says. “I checked, and your schedules are very close.”

“Okay,” Al says, because that’s not the type of thing you’re allowed to say no to. When the teacher tells you to show the new girl around, you show the new girl around, even if you don’t like it.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Olsen says brightly. Then she goes on and teaches math, and Al scrawls her notes in her notebook and doesn’t look up until the bell rings. She packs her shit up and almost forgets she needs to wait for Natalie. Natalie slings her backpack onto her back, and for the first time, Al actually takes a second to look at Natalie. Blonde hair. Blue eyes tinted just a little bit green as well. Overall soft features. Al’s jaw falls open for a moment while she tries to think of something clever to say, but her brain short circuits.

Al has been told many times by her older brother that middle school is the absolute peak of every person’s awkward phase. High school will be bad, Jesse always says – and he knows, because he’s a sophomore now – but middle school will _always_ be so much worse. But this new girl, Natalie, clearly is not going through an awkward phase. Al might be. Her mother certainly seems to think so, based on what she thinks of Al’s new haircut, but Al’s pretty sure this change is a permanent one. Natalie, though, will probably never have an awkward phase.

“Aren’t you going to show me around?” Natalie asks.

“Uh…” Al’s brain still hasn’t rebooted itself, and her mouth has gone completely dry. She manages to nod toward the door then bolts. Natalie stays on her heels; she’s not about to get lost because her dumbass guide didn’t wait for her.

“So what did Mrs. Olsen say your name was?” Natalie asks. This should be a normal stroll through the halls to the gymnasium, but Al’s heart pounds in her chest like she’s already run the mile for class.

“Althea,” Al mutters. “But don’t call me that. It’s Al.”

Al looks over just as Natalie’s lips twist into a smile. “Al,” Natalie repeats. “That’s nice.”

“I guess,” Al mumbles. Her face begins to heat up, so she vaguely gestures to the left. “The cafeteria is that way,” she informs. She mentally works on getting the redness in her face to go away as she adds, “The gym’s coming up.”

“You know,” Natalie says, “if you don’t want to show me around, I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

Al hesitates. “But Mrs. Olsen – I mean, it’s fine,” Al says. She curses herself for stumbling over her words, then curses herself for starting to ramble. “I know Mrs. Olsen said I had to, but I don’t really mind it. It could be worse.”

“How?” Natalie asks.

“My friend Todd could be here.”

Natalie laughs, even though Al knows she has no idea who Todd is or why that statement is so funny. But then again, maybe Natalie just knows. “Seriously, I could find my way,” Natalie says when her laughter dies off. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I said I’ll show you around, geez,” Al says. “It sounds like you’re trying to ditch me and blame me for it.”

Al does the gentlemanly thing and holds the door to the gym open for Natalie. Natalie throws a smirk Al’s way and shrugs. “I move around a lot,” she says. “I learn new places quickly.”

“New people, too, then?”

Natalie nods. “I can tell I’m going to mess up your day by following you around, so I’m offering you a way out.”

“You won’t mess up my day,” Al says, but it causes her face to heat up again. Now she kind of misses her long hair. At least it could hang in her face and conceal her embarrassment.

“Okay,” Natalie agrees. “But do I get to meet Todd?”

Al’s eyes roll. “You don’t want to meet him,” Al says. “Trust me.”

They laugh together, and after that, Al’s willing to say she’s finally met one girl that’s not inevitably going to get on her nerves. Al accompanies Natalie to every class, shows her all the important places and points out all the bitchy girls and mean boys. By the last class of the day, Al and Natalie pass notes back and forth. Most of it is nonsense. Well, that’s not true. Most of it is trash talk, but it develops into nonsense and sketches and ends when Natalie slaps the final note in front of Al when the bell rings. Natalie doesn’t wait to be escorted to the buses, and Al can’t help herself from unfolding the note the moment Natalie’s out the door.

Written in that neat type of girlish handwriting is a phone number, finished off with a heart.

Al nearly passes out.

But of course, it’s seventh grade, and it’s middle of nowhere Texas, so while Al doesn’t have a word for her utter disinterest in boys yet, she _does_ know whatever she feels for Natalie is probably the same thing all those girls that giggle about the boys are feeling, too. She holds onto that little piece of paper with the phone number written on it. And she uses it. Frequently. But that doesn’t really matter, because Natalie makes use of Al’s phone number, too, and by the end of seventh grade, they’re basically as good of friends as Al is with Todd. But better, because Natalie isn’t a fucking idiot like Todd, who broke his ankle jumping off his roof on the last day of school.

Al and Natalie hang out all summer. Turns out, they live pretty close to each other. Close enough to bike over, which is good, because Al gets tired of asking her parents to drive her places. She’s glad to be out of the house, honestly, because Jesse is never there and Todd can’t even come over because of his stupid broken ankle. So Al spends the summer with Natalie, and when it ends, she’s lucky she remembers even a handful of the things they did. By the end, she wonders why she hasn’t had any girls for friends before, because this is _so_ much better than hanging with boys (well, not always).

And then a week before eighth grade is set to start, Natalie gives Al the news. They’re spread out on Natalie’s bed in front of the TV – because, one, Natalie has a _huge_ bed compared to Al, and two, Natalie has a freaking TV in her room. Todd has a TV, too, but you have to bang on it just right to get it to work. Natalie’s just works on its own. They’re watching some mindless cartoon when Natalie suddenly sighs and sits up.

“Al.”

“Hmm?” Al says. Her eyes stay on the TV. Natalie’s TV is nicer than the one in Al’s living room, and the TV in Natalie’s living room is even more insane.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

Natalie hits the back of her hand against Al’s arm, which forces Al to tear her eyes away from the screen and look over. Al shoots upright, eyebrows pulling together, and she brushes her hair back from her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Al asks quietly. She’s never seen Natalie cry, and she doesn’t want to start now, but it’s too late for that. Natalie wipes at the tears with the heels of her hands and shakes her head.

“I’m not going to school with you for eighth grade,” Natalie whispers.

“What? Why not?” Al demands.

“We’re moving again,” Natalie says. “To California. I asked if we could stay, but Dad says we don’t have a choice.”

Al goes numb. She barely manages to ask, “But why?”

“Dad’s job.”

“But – but you can’t leave,” Al insists.

“I don’t want to,” Natalie sniffles. “But Dad says I can’t stay.”

The rest of that day is spent lying on Natalie’s bed in front of the TV that’s on but no longer being watched. Al stares at the ceiling mostly. Natalie stares at her, but Al can’t bring herself to stare back. Natalie attempts to hold conversation after conversation, but Al lets every single one drop. She doesn’t understand why she feels like suddenly her heart has been ripped out of her chest and stomped into the dirt. The feeling doesn’t go away, not when Al’s there to say goodbye before Natalie’s family drives off forever, and not when Al returns home to find Jesse and his girlfriend watching a movie in the living room after a whole summer of Jesse basically being absent, and definitely not when Al starts eighth grade back at square one, with just Todd as a friend.

Al keeps that stupid little piece of paper with the useless phone number on it tucked away. Maybe it means something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm posting this first chapter, I'm already mostly done with a second, so hopefully this whole story will go out super quick so I can get back to Crash and start another side project lol! This first chapter is actually fairly short in comparison to the second one, and I have no clue how long the rest might get, but I'm just rolling with it.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear any thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as I can!


	2. Fourteen through Eighteen

Al starts high school when Jesse is a senior and way too cool to be seen hanging around his little sister. He takes pity on her the first day and gives her a quick tour, but his girlfriend stays glued to his side the whole time because she’s showing her freshman sister around, too. It’s not so much a tour as it is Jesse and Liz acting like they’re the only two people in the universe and being gross – they’re _holding hands in school_ – but Al is desperate for some idea of what this building is like. The last thing she wants to do is show up twenty minutes late to a class because she got lost. How pathetic would that be?

“We are so screwed,” Liz’s sister – Kate, if Al’s remembering right – whispers. They pass through the main hall for the third time, and Jesse and Liz stop walking to talk to their friends gathered outside the gym.

“Yeah,” Al agrees, eyeing her brother. “I guess we are.” She pauses. “Do you know where the C wing is?”

“We walked through it, didn’t we?” Kate asks. “Or was that the D wing? Both?”

Al glances at Jesse again, but he’s not paying them any attention, too caught up in his conversation with his basketball bros. As Al has learned, the Szewczek-Przygocki family is cursed with height. Jesse is 6’4” and Al is well on her way to being at least 5’9.” In fact, she towers over Kate – and Liz, for that matter. Al towers over most of the girls. Even teachers. But while Jesse plays basketball, Al doesn’t use her height for anything.

“We should walk it again,” Al suggests. “Without our siblings.”

“Yes!” Kate exclaims. “Come on!”

Al’s eyebrows raise as Kate seizes her by the arm and drags her along. That is _way_ too much enthusiasm for seven in the morning, and that’s way too much enthusiasm over a walk through a high school. For some reason, Kate holds onto Al’s arm the entire time, practically guiding their walk, and they manage to find every one of their classes before the first bell rings.

By the end of the first week of freshman year, Kate starts to come over when Liz does, and on the second Monday of the school year, Kate declares to Al that they’re going to be friends.

“Huh?” Al says. She heard Kate loud and clear, since Kate tends to speak loudly even when they’re in the library before class attempting to do their homework at the last minute.

“We’re going to be friends,” Kate repeats.

Al blinks. “Are you saying we haven’t been friends until right now then?”

Kate falters. “No! Of course not! I was just –” Al grins, and Kate busts out laughing, drawing the irritated stares of the students around them. “You’re mean,” Kate says.

“You laughed.”

Kate smiles, and Al returns it when their eyes lock. Kate looks away quickly, though, fidgeting with her hair and staring down at the open notebook she hasn’t touched in at least ten minutes.

“I was just saying,” Kate says softly, which is a first, because Kate almost never speaks softly as far as Al can tell. “Since your brother and my sister are dating –”

“And they’re really gross about it,” Al interjects.

“And they’re really gross about it,” Kate agrees. “I’m just saying we’re definitely going to be friends.”

“You’re overthinking this,” Al says. She slams her textbook shut and jams it into her backpack. “We’re already friends.”

By the beginning of Al’s sophomore year, Jesse and Liz have already broken up. Al saw it coming, of course, but she was the only one. Even Kate kept insisting Jesse and Liz would make it, even though they each chose a college on a different coast. And ever since Jesse graduated high school and earned himself a scholarship for basketball, he’s been much more invested in sports than girls. Jesse’s lack of interest in Al’s life comes in handy now, because Al stays friends with Kate without issue.

It’s an easy sort of friendship, not low maintenance but not exhausting, either. In fact, being friends with Todd is harder than being friends with Kate, because on the last day of sophomore year, Todd jumps off the roof of Matt Smith’s house at his annual end of the year party and misses the pool, knocking himself unconscious and severely concussing himself. Al shows up at the hospital with Kate in tow and an armful of flowers, because she knows Todd’s going to hate flowers.

Todd flashes her a dopey grin, and Al bets he’s still hopped up on painkillers. He waves his hand vaguely toward the flowers and slurs, “Did you bring those for me?”

“No, they’re for the other idiot that jumped off a roof and missed the pool,” Al retorts. “Yeah, they’re for you, dumbass.”

Todd giggles, which is a sound Al has never heard from him and never wants to hear again. “Don’t give them to me,” Todd says once the giggling subsides. He manages to point a finger behind Al, at Kate, and says, “Give ‘em to her. Your girlfriend.”

Al’s eyes widen. “Todd, what – what are you talking about?” Al demands. “That – you’re –”

He laughs while Al struggles to form coherent sentences, then Todd mumbles, “S’just a joke, Allie. Calm down. C’mon, everything about you screams lesbian anyway.”

Al’s eye twitches. She distantly feels Kate’s hand grasping at her shoulder, trying to pull her back, but Al shrugs her off and throws the flowers at Todd’s chest. “There, asshole,” she spits. She spins and storms out of the room before Todd has a chance to respond. Kate trails behind, uncharacteristically silent as Al leads the way out of the hospital, shaking her head to herself.

_Lesbian_.

She knows what it means. She’s heard it, but never in a positive context. It’s one of those words you talk about in hushed tones in the house only. Always something like: _did you hear? The Owens family’s youngest daughter is a_ lesbian. _I know, it’s such a shame. She was such a sweet, pretty girl_. Al’s mother lives for that kind of gossip but always follows it up with a prayer to ward off the evil spirits that apparently are summoned whenever the word _lesbian_ is uttered.

Al doesn’t even have the mental capacity to be upset over Todd calling her _Allie_ after years of telling him to knock it off.

“Al, wait!” Kate calls. She jogs, even though she’s wearing these boots with a ridiculous heel, and Kate snags Al’s wrist in her hand, dragging them both to a halt before Al can step into the parking lot.

“What?” Al hisses, yanking her arm free. “We’re blocking the entrance.”

“You aren’t seriously going to let him get to you like that, are you?” Kate questions. She puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows. “He’s high and he’s being an asshole to get under your skin. Don’t let it bother you.”

Al opens her mouth, but the words die in her throat. Al inhales sharply, carefully considers what she might say as Kate stares expectantly at her.

“Al?” Kate says, snapping her fingers in front of Al’s face. “You in there?”

“Do I really scream _lesbian_ to you?” Al asks. Kate laughs, but she immediately covers her mouth and stops at the pained look that crosses Al’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Kate says. “It’s just – since when do you care what people think about you?”

“I don’t,” Al mumbles. She flinches under Kate’s curious gaze and turns away. “Let’s just go, yeah?” Al says. They fall into stride as they begin their walk from the hospital back to Kate’s. It’s only a twenty minute walk, but Al has the feeling it’s going to be the longest twenty minutes of her damn life.

“You know,” Kate says after a whole two minutes of silence, “Todd’s just jealous.”

“What?” Al says.

“He’s just jealous, because he knows you could pull more girls than him,” Kate explains. “Because he’s ugly _and_ stupid.”

Al cracks a smile and murmurs, “He’s stupid, but he’s really not that ugly anymore.”

“Ew, don’t tell me you think Todd’s cute.”

“God, no,” Al laughs. “And besides, he’s stupid. Actually stupid, too.”

“Dangerous stupid,” Kate agrees.

Al shakes her head. “But you’re wrong,” she says. “I couldn’t pull more girls than Todd. He’s a football player now.”

“A stupid one,” Kate says. She knocks her shoulder into Al’s and grins. Al’s lips curl up in a half-hearted attempt to return it, and Kate goes serious again. “You aren’t afraid to be you,” she says. “You wear what you want and say what you want and _do_ what you want, and if people don’t like it, then fuck them.”

Al snorts. “You know how to swear?”

Kate’s eyes roll. “I’m trying to be a good friend here. The least you can do is acknowledge my effort.”

Al smiles. “Yeah, well, you don’t need to try to be a good friend. You already are one.”

“You’re going to kill me, but that was _very_ gay of you,” Kate says softly.

Al laughs. “So you’re one of those people that uses gay to mean stupid, too, huh?”

“No,” Kate says. Her fingers brush against the back of Al’s hand, and Al resists the urge to pull away. “Gay meaning _sweet_.”

“I don’t think you can just make up new meanings for preexisting words.”

“I just did,” Kate says matter-of-factly. “Who’s going to stop me?”

“I don’t know,” Al mutters. “But you should never say the words _gay_ or _lesbian_ around my mother unless you want her to murder me.”

“Why would she murder you?”

Al hesitates. “I don’t know.”

Kate’s hand bumps into Al’s again, and this time, Al pushes it away.

“What’s that about?” Kate questions.

“Stop touching me.”

“Now you’re just being a baby.”

“Then I’m being a baby,” Al snaps. “Sue me.”

Kate sighs. “If Todd didn’t have a major concussion, I’d go back there and slap the shit out of him.”

“Don’t slap him,” Al grunts. “He jumped off a roof and missed the pool in front of half of our grade. I think he’s been punished enough.”

“Punished for his stupid decision to jump off a roof after he already broke his ankle doing the same exact thing,” Kate points out. “He hasn’t been punished for –”

“For what?” Al challenges.

“For fucking up your self-confidence.”

Al scoffs. “My level of self-confidence is very high, thank you very much. I can take this one little blow to my ego and survive.”

“Apparently you can’t,” Kate says. She jabs Al in the side and watches Al startle and immediately swat her hand away. “You’re acting all sulky and depressed, and it’s making _me_ sulky and depressed. So cheer up. _Lesbian_ isn’t the worst thing someone could ever call you.”

“Then what is?”

Kate thinks for a moment. “He could’ve said you’re a self-absorbed, obnoxious piece of shit.”

Al’s eyebrows raise. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Of course not! I’m just brainstorming, but to me, that one would’ve stung more than _lesbian_.” Then it dawns on Kate. “Oh my God,” she says. She covers her mouth with her hands and stops walking, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“What?” Al grumbles.

“Is it bothering you so much because he’s _right_?”

“Right about what?” Al asks even as her blood runs cold. She’s lucky the sun’s so hot, because otherwise, her face would be paler than a ghost’s rather than beet red from the heat.

“You’re a lesbian,” Kate says. She doesn’t even wait for Al to confirm or deny it. She just flings her arms around Al’s neck, since her boots with the heel put her at almost the same height as Al, and Kate holds on tight.

“I didn’t –” Al stutters, but Kate shushes her.

“It all makes sense now,” Kate says right next to Al’s ear. “You’re being rude. Hug me back,” she adds, manually lifting Al’s arms and wrapping them around herself.

“How does it make sense?” Al asks softly.

“Well, an idiot would say the men’s clothes and short hair, but Todd’s stupid little comment bothers you, and _nothing_ ever bothers you. You’re worried about what your mom would think. You think every boy I’ve ever pointed out and said is cute is actually disgusting. Everything is falling into place.”

Al tightens her arms around Kate’s lower back, because she won’t be able to handle Kate pulling back to look at her yet. Kate, though, shows no indication of being ready to let go, even though they’re standing on the sidewalk outside of a dingy bar. Al stares up at the sky, clenching her jaw and willing back tears, as the strength of Kate’s hold on Al’s neck threatens to start cutting off Al’s air supply.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Al finally manages to whisper.

“Oh my God, of course I won’t,” Kate replies. “That’s your business. I’m just glad I know to stop pointing out boys to you.”

Al laughs, but it sounds kind of strangled and dies quickly. “I don’t actually mind that,” Al says. “I love seeing how offended you look when I tell you they aren’t cute.”

Kate pauses. “Jesse doesn’t know?”

Al huffs. “Jesse hasn’t given a rat’s ass about me since we were in elementary school together.”

Kate finally releases Al, pulling back just enough to plant both of her hands on Al’s shoulders. “Maybe you should think about telling him,” Kate suggests. “He’s a nice guy.”

“No,” Al says. “That’s one step closer to telling my mom.”

“Don’t tell your mom. Two more years and you’ll be off to college anyway.”

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“It should,” Kate says. She touches her palm to Al’s jaw, quickly, then takes a full step back. “That’s your ticket out of Texas.”

Junior year forces Brad Russell into Al’s life. Brad’s barely taller than Al and always loads his hair with too much gel and reeks of cheap cologne, but Kate swoons anyway. Al sees Todd on the first day back, acting like a stoner and enjoying the limelight as the kid who spectacularly failed at Matt’s party. They even make eye contact, though Al fully intends to keep walking by.

“Hey, wait!” Todd calls. He tears away from his group and runs after Al. She pretends like she didn’t hear him until he’s right beside her. Sometime over the summer, Todd hit a major growth spurt, so he’s finally taller than Al. She flinches when she realizes she can’t look down at him anymore. “Look, I’m sorry,” Todd admits. “You tried to do something nice over the summer, and I was a jackass and insulted you instead.”

“It wasn’t an insult,” Al says quietly.

“Whatever,” Todd dismisses. “Point is, I wasn’t grateful that I had a friend willing to visit my dumbass in the hospital and bring flowers. And I’m sorry. I hope we can stay friends.”

Al presses her lips together and slowly nods. “It’s okay,” she says. She motions back toward where Todd’s large group lingers. “Your friends are waiting,” she says. “You should go.”

For a moment, Todd almost looks crushed. But the look disappears, and he goes to rejoin his group, glancing back at Al before she’s even turned to leave. She goes to her first class without Kate, because Kate’s off sucking face with Brad Russell in the B wing, and that definitely isn’t going to get on Al’s nerves. Al knows Kate and Brad will last all of three weeks and be done. She just has to be patient.

Except Kate and Brad last more than three weeks. More than three months. On the last day of junior year, they hug goodbye in the main hall while Al waits for them to finish so she can go home. Jesus, they’re acting like Brad’s going off to war instead of spending three weeks in Ohio with his grandmother.

“Guys,” Al calls for the third time. She averts her eyes when the hug becomes another very long, very gross kiss, and Al calculates how long it’d take her to walk home from here. Forty minutes in blazing heat, and Al’s wearing a button down shirt with sleeves because the school’s cooled to about fifty degrees. So yeah. Al’s going to wait the extra five minutes it takes for Kate and Brad to finally depart so she can catch a ride home with Kate.

Kate splits away from Brad, but they wave at each other until they’re out of sight. Al walks briskly, and Kate has to practically jog to keep up.

“Hey, slow down,” Kate says. “You know your legs are longer than mine.”

“You said goodbye for over five minutes,” Al shoots. “He’s going to his grandma’s for three weeks. He’ll be back.”

Kate smirks. “Is someone jealous?” she teases. She reaches up and ruffles Al’s hair, since she knows Al hates it, and Al accordingly ducks out of the way and fixes it.

“I’m not jealous,” Al grumbles. “I just want to go home, and you’re my ride.”

Kate sheds her cardigan as they step outside, flinging it over her shoulder, and she digs for her keys. They reach Kate’s car, and she pauses. “You’re going to die,” she tells Al.

“What?”

Kate grabs the front of Al’s shirt and starts unbuttoning it before Al has the chance to comprehend what’s happening. “The AC in my car is broken,” Kate explains. “It’s the hottest day of the year so far. You’re going to die if you wear this.”

“Hey – stop trying to take my clothes off!”

Kate grins as Al attempts to knock her hands away, but she pops the last button on the shirt and immediately starts to wrestle it away from Al.

“Just take it off and stop being so difficult,” Kate laughs.

“What if I hadn’t been wearing anything under this?” Al says. She gives in and lets Kate take the shirt but immediately crosses her arms over her chest, feeling oddly exposed in just a tank top.

“Then we would’ve had a very awkward moment that would’ve also simultaneously made us friends forever,” Kate replies. She throws a wink Al’s way and says, “Let’s go home.”

Al drops into the passenger’s seat and quickly straps herself in so she can cross her arms over her chest once more, swallowing even though her mouth has gone dry. Kate drives with the windows down and the radio blaring. She sings – badly – the whole way and dances even though she’d been devastated to say goodbye to Brad less than an hour before.

“Can you just sing with me?” Kate asks between songs. When Al doesn’t answer, Kate leans over and slaps her on the thigh. “Hey! Grumpy pants. I know you know the words.”

Al waves her off, continuing to stare out the side window, but that just prompts Kate to shut the radio off.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asks.

“Nothing.”

“Lies,” Kate sings. “Come on. We don’t keep secrets. Just tell me.”

Al sits in careful silence. She’s not about to let slip that while Kate might not keep secrets, Al definitely does. She uncrosses her arms in favor of wringing her hands in her lap. Al feels the sweat beading on her forehead. It’s already been dripping down the back of her neck basically since the moment they stepped outside.

“You don’t like Brad,” Kate guesses.

“What? That isn’t – he’s nice,” Al says.

Kate laughs. “ _Nice_? You can barely look at him, let alone hold a conversation. He tells me all the time he doesn’t think you like him very much, and he doesn’t know what he did.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Al mumbles.

“Is it because I’ve been spending so much time with Brad? Because he’s going to be gone for three weeks, so it’ll just be you and me.”

“Until he gets back,” Al says. She shakes her head. “Forget it,” Al says. “It’s just been a long year.”

“But now it’s over, so you should be happy,” Kate says. She leans back over and stops Al from wringing her hands, tugging Al’s hand over the center console and linking their fingers together. Al flinches and refuses to stop looking out the window as Kate drives in silence, clutching onto Al’s hand even though both of their hands are sweaty. “You aren’t happy,” Kate finally says.

“That’s not your fault.”

“Then why does it feel like it is?”

“Because you’re self-centered?” Al jokes. It falls flat. “It’s not your fault,” Al says quietly. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, and it only gets worse as Kate adjusts her grip on Al’s hand which results in both their hands resting against Kate’s bare thigh.

“You sure?” Kate asks.

Al inhales sharply. “Positive.”

That summer, Kate makes it her mission to see Al as much as possible, even though that just serves to make Al’s problem worse. She’s trying _not_ to fall for her best friend, but by the time she has to consciously think about that, it’s already too late. Brad coming back from Ohio is almost a blessing in disguise, because it gives Al some much needed space from Kate after three weeks of seeing her every day and having to think of something different and “fun” to do. They pretty much always ended up in Kate’s pool or spread out on towels beside it, and Al’s skin can only take so much sun. She’s going to run out of aloe with the amount she’s needed to treat her constant sunburn.

The day before Brad’s set to return, they lie beside the pool in the waning sunlight, having ignored calls for dinner from Kate’s mom three times already.

“Do you think you’re going to date someone?” Kate asks, disturbing Al’s half-dozing state.

Al’s eyes pop open and she grunts before answering, “Eventually.”

“But not in high school?”

“No,” Al snorts. “I value my life, thank you very much.”

“What about college?”

Al hesitates. They haven’t talked about college. They always talk around their inevitable split. Kate committed to a college in the state of Washington long ago, and Al’s been bouncing between two colleges on the east coast to study journalism. Bitterly, Al thinks of how that went for Jesse and Liz, but she doesn’t dare say anything about it. Especially because, in a way, it implies that Al and Kate are going to be breaking up.

“Probably,” Al finally says. “If I find someone.”

Kate chuckles. “You’re looking at some of the most liberal cities in America, Al,” Kate says. “You’ll find someone.” Kate rolls her head to the side, staring at Al through her sunglasses, and adds, “How could you not? Look at you. You’re adorable.”

“Shut up,” Al says. She’s suddenly glad her face and neck have been fried by the sun. It nicely disguises the way her face flushes.

“And you have _fantastic_ hair,” Kate says.

“Okay, thanks?”

“And did you start working out? Damn, girl.”

Al bursts out laughing in spite of herself. “You know damn well I don’t work out.”

Al tried her hand at sports once, since Jesse’s such a superstar, but it turns out, she’s not really well coordinated. Her height isn’t quite an advantage in the way that Jesse’s is for him. Kate should know. She was there.

Kate rolls off her towel, grasping onto Al’s bicep for leverage, and she lies on her stomach. She pushes her sunglasses up into her hair and gazes down at Al.

“What?” Al finally says.

“What do you mean _what_?” Kate questions.

“You look like you have something to say.” Al pauses then readjusts the way Kate’s hand rests on her bicep. “Your finger’s poking into my boob,” Al murmurs.

“Sorry.”

“Did you have something to say?” Al asks. “Because I think your mom’s about to yell at us about dinner again.”

Kate hesitates. “Yeah, just…you’re sure you want to study journalism?”

Al’s eyebrows raise. She stares dubiously into Kate’s eyes then answers, “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Then maybe you should pick Boston. Just a suggestion.”

Kate tries to push herself to her feet using Al’s bicep, but she slips and ends up smacking down onto Al’s chest. Al groans in pain and throws Kate aside. Kate laughs it off as Al rubs at her chest and complains about her sunburn.

“Stop being a baby,” Kate says. She gets up without falling this time, flashing a grin, and launches herself back into the pool. “You coming or not?” Kate calls.

Al sits up. “I’ll pass,” she says. “Um, actually I think I’m just gonna go. I’m not feeling too well.”

“Hey, wait! Don’t you want a ride?”

Al scoops her clothes off the patio, bundling them beneath her arm, and starts walking. Her house isn’t that far, anyway. She hears the splashing of water behind her, and Kate runs to meet her, grabbing Al by the shoulder with her icy, wet hand. Al hisses and instinctively pulls away. Her shoulders are probably burned the worst, and Kate’s eyes widen as she realizes this and yanks her hand back.

“Sorry,” Kate says quickly. “But what’re you doing?”

“I told you.”

“No, you’re being weird,” Kate says. “Did I do something wrong?”

Al falters. “No. Of course not. I really just don’t feel well. I need to lie down or something.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go,” Kate says. “You can sleep here for the night.”

“No,” Al says, way too quickly. “I should – I should go home.”

The next day, Brad comes back, and Al only sees Kate sporadically from then on. The rest of the summer’s a blur. Al dodges most of Kate’s attempts to get her to hang out with her and Brad, and she catches wind of a rumor that Todd’s now the town druggie. Jesse’s home, and for the first time in a while, he actually pays some attention to Al. He asks questions about her college plans, agrees with Kate that Al should look into Boston, and they even lazily shoot hoops in the park the night before senior year starts.

School starts, and within a month, a plane crashes into the Twin Towers, and the school day grinds to a halt. They sit in their classrooms and watch the news reports as parents slowly show up to pick up their kids. Al can’t take her eyes off the TV, and even though she’s already sure about majoring in journalism, 9/11 further sets it in stone. Because it’s not the destruction that catches her eye; it’s the people. The stories. It isn’t the things that happen that matters; it’s the people that experience it.

Al receives her acceptance to Boston University shortly after. The day after Al graduates from high school, Brad dumps Kate to go backpacking in Europe while she gets an education, and Al spends all day curled up in Kate’s bed while Kate sobs into her shoulder. Kate holds onto a fistful of Al’s hair way too tightly, but Al doesn’t have the heart to ask her to loosen it up. Kate sobs nonstop for what feels like hours. Al’s favorite button down is soaked through at the chest by the time Kate’s sobs become whimpers, but Al keeps her mouth shut and rubs Kate’s back and tries to shift in a way that makes Kate’s grip on her hair a little less painful.

Once Kate goes completely quiet, Al figures it’s the time for her to say something that’s supposed to fix this. But the only thing she can think of is, “There’ll be other boys. They’re a dime a dozen.”

Al grimaces the moment the words leave her mouth. That sounds insensitive. But to Al’s surprise, Kate laughs and releases her hold on Al’s hair. Al sighs in relief – both at Kate’s laughter and at the release of pressure on her head – and manages a crooked grin when Kate pushes herself up so she’s hovering over Al. Even though she isn’t holding onto Al’s hair anymore, Kate’s hand hasn’t moved. Instead, her fingers gently stroke through it, and Al almost makes a crack about how she needs to go get it cut, just to break the sudden tension that’s making her feel uneasy.

“What?” Al finally asks. She doesn’t like the way Kate’s staring at her – or maybe she does? She can’t figure out what it might mean, though, but if they’re talking, they’re good. But Al’s heart is in her throat, and even though she swallows hard, she doesn’t think she’ll be capable of speaking for much longer if Kate doesn’t back off.

“That’s the worst thing anyone could ever say after your friend gets dumped,” Kate murmurs.

Al grunts. “I know. I’m just that good, sweetheart.”

Kate grins and nods, which causes her hair to fall in her face. “Yeah,” Kate agrees. “You are.”

Al reaches up to hook Kate’s hair behind her ear, getting it out of her face, and she doesn’t know why she lets her hand linger for a moment too long. Kate definitely notices, but she’d be one to talk, because her hand’s still very much tangled in Al’s hair. A loud crash downstairs reminds them both that they aren’t alone in the house, even though Kate’s dad disappeared quickly once he discovered she was crying over a boy, and Kate’s mom was more than happy to let Al handle it on her own.

Al’s mind flicks back to that one time last summer out by Kate’s pool, where they were in a similar situation. Kate had swiftly gotten them out of that, but now –

“If you aren’t going to say something,” Al finally says, “then stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

Kate hums in agreement. Her hand tightens in Al’s hair again, and just as Al’s about to complain about it, Kate pulls herself down and presses her lips to Al’s. More out of shock than anything else, Al’s lips part, and that only serves to deepen what should’ve been something quick and chaste. Al squeezes her eyes shut and hopes she isn’t dreaming – wouldn’t be the first time – as she grasps at Kate’s waist.

Maybe it’s thirty seconds, maybe it’s thirty years. Al has lost all sense of time when Kate shifts back just enough to break their lips apart. Al’s too afraid to open her eyes, to have to meet Kate’s gaze, so she keeps them shut when she whispers, “What was that about?”

“You shouldn’t have to go off to college without getting to kiss someone that cares about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished this while alternating between writing this chapter and writing an essay for my African history class (which I still haven't finished) but maybe I'll be able to get this entire story up if not today then hopefully by tomorrow.
> 
> If you didn't know, the chapter titles is Al's age(s) throughout the chapter. My mental timeline is being calculated off of Maggie Grace's birth year - 1983. The first chapter was more of a childhood crush sort of thing (which I totally had going for me in seventh grade), and this one was the classic falling for your straight best friend in high school (which I may or may not have done in high school myself lol).
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	3. Twenty-One

Al’s junior year of college starts off wonderfully. Her roommate from the last two years tells Al last minute that she found a place of her own, so Al’s going to be randomly placed with someone new. The lady that cuts her hair a week before the start of classes shaves too much off the back and is forced to correct it by shaving more off the sides, too. And Kate has finally dropped completely off the grid, totally accustomed to her new life – and her fiancé – in Washington.

Wonderful. Al has her side of the dorm set up before whoever this new roommate is ever shows up. If she’s lucky, the girl will never show up and she’ll get a room to herself. As soon as the thought passes through Al’s mind, she hears a key in the door behind her. Al turns around just in time for the door to fly open, and a girl even taller than Al hauls her shit inside.

She looks like she’s just stepped off a beach despite the fact that they’re in Boston. She’s tan, wearing sunglasses indoors, and she’s dressed in shorts that nearly show off her ass paired with a baggy tank top. Her hair’s only slightly longer than Al’s, bleached blonde but showing dark roots, and when she grins widely, she shows off impeccable teeth.

“Oh, hey!” the girl exclaims. She drops all her bags to the floor beside her bed and eagerly thrusts her hand toward Al. “Claire,” she introduces.

Al nods warily. “Al,” she says. She shakes Claire’s hand, and Claire’s grin stays on her face the entire time. She pulls her sunglasses off and tosses them onto her bare mattress. For a moment, Al and Claire size each other up. Up close, Al realizes Claire’s only maybe a whole inch taller than her. Her eyes are an odd grayish color. Sharp jawline. There’s some kind of tattoo winding up her left inner forearm, and when she turns around, Al’s eyes land on an intricately designed compass on the back of Claire’s neck.

“So where ya from, Al?” Claire asks the second before she starts unpacking her bags.

“Texas,” Al replies. She hauls herself up onto her bed and sits cross-legged, facing Claire’s side of the room.

“Cool,” Claire says with way too much genuine enthusiasm. Her personality is as bright as her hair, apparently.

“You?” Al asks.

“Chicago,” Claire says.

“So why are you in Boston?” Al questions.

Claire stops unpacking for a moment and turns back, hands on her hips. She quirks an eyebrow upward and asks, “Why are you?”

“I asked first.”

Claire grins once more and says, “I ran from my family. Why else?”

Al smiles in spite of herself. “Same here.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Claire says. “You mind if I hang that?”

She pulls a Chicago Blackhawks flag free from one of her bags, and Al stares at her in disgust. “Yes, actually, I do,” Al answers.

Claire smirks. “I’ll be sure to keep it on my side.”

Al’s last roommate may have been messy and slept at irregular hours and brought her boyfriends over without warning Al, but at least she pretty much left Al alone. And she didn’t hang flags of crappy sports teams in their room.

“What’re you majoring in?” Al asks. The silence is starting to get awkward, but Claire doesn’t seem to notice.

“English,” Claire says slyly. “You?”

“Journalism.”

“We’ll get along just fine,” Claire declares. “Oh, by the way, one of my friends is in a sorority, and they’re throwing a major party with the frat boys tonight, if you want to come.”

“I’ll pass,” Al says.

“Oh, c’mon,” Claire urges. “It’ll be fun.”

“Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Free alcohol,” Claire points out.

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Boys.”

Al grimaces. “Also not my thing.”

Claire’s eyes light up. “You’ll have a great time, and it’ll definitely turn us into actual friends. Come on, _please_?”

Al presses her lips together and thinks for a moment. “If you ditch me, I’ll leave,” she threatens.

“Fair enough,” Claire agrees. She pauses. “Are you any good at beer pong?”

The answer to that question turns out to be very, _very_ good. As in Claire and Al are undefeated, and it’s almost entirely due to Al, because Claire is total shit at beer pong. Al prepares for her last shot, the one that’ll win them a fifth game in a row, and of course she makes it. It’s like she can’t miss. Both Al and Claire thrust their arms into the air, yelling even though neither of them are even close to drunk yet, and Claire drags Al into an unexpected hug.

“Five in a row,” Claire says when she pushes back from Al. “I’m impressed.”

“What can I say?” Al says, grinning. “I have layers.”

One of the frat guys they just beat says something Al doesn’t hear, but Claire immediately shouts, “Oh, fuck off, you sore losers!”

“What’d he say?” Al asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Claire replies. “You want to go another round or get a drink?”

The next thing Al knows, she’s waking up in a bed that isn’t her own. Her head is killing her, and that takes precedence over everything else for the time being. At least, until she realizes there’s a body on top of her. Al panics, all her muscles tensing up, and she thinks she must’ve blacked out. Al forces herself to look down, at herself and at whoever the body belongs to, and she determines that she _didn’t_ black out, because the memories – although hazy – come rushing back.

Because one, Al is buck-ass naked. And two, the body on top of her belongs to a girl with bleach blonde hair. Al squeezes her eyes shut and reopens them to see if the situation changes. When it doesn’t, she assumes this must be reality and – oh God, she really went and slept with her new roommate that she now has to live with for at least the whole first semester.

Al considers her options. She could play it cool, roll Claire off of her and hope it doesn’t wake her up, put her clothes back on, and get ready to go. And if Claire does wake up, Al can just act like it’s no big deal. It means nothing anyway. They barely know each other. All they’ve done is dominate in beer pong – thanks to Al – and do a lot of shots together. And Al thinks they made out in the backyard after the beer pong tournament long before they even reached a bed. She’s not entirely sure, though. She could’ve dreamt that part.

Before Al works out a sufficient plan, Claire stirs and lifts her head off Al’s chest in confusion. Al grimaces as Claire’s gray eyes land on her face. Claire’s lips part, but she doesn’t seem to know what to say. Al decides it’s up to her to break the silence.

“Your hair looks ridiculous,” Al says.

Claire blinks. And then she busts out laughing. “You’re one to talk,” she replies. Claire pauses, pressing her lips together and thinking for a moment. “We’re both totally naked, aren’t we?”

Al winces. “Yes.”

“Cool. Just checking. So I’m going to get up now and, uh, try to find my clothes before someone comes in here.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Claire smiles. “And then I’m going to need to buy some aspirin or something, because my head is _killing_ me.”

“You’re not the only one.” Al sighs. “I have pills back at the dorm.”

“How much did we drink?” Claire whines. She finally rolls off of Al, taking the entire sheet with her, but Al’s less concerned about that than she is about the fact that Claire rolls straight off the bed and hits the floor with a loud _thud_.

“You okay?” Al says, poking her head over the edge. Claire groans but sends Al a thumbs up.

“I’m just smooth like that,” Claire says. She throws the sheet aside shamelessly and sits up to begin the search for her clothes. She flings the first bra she finds Al’s way, quickly followed by underwear, before Claire finds her own clothing. They both get back in last night’s clothes and stumble out of the room, squinting against the onslaught of sunlight they then face.

“What do you remember from last night?” Al questions. She combs her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to get it to lay flat as Claire mulls over the question.

“We won a lot at beer pong,” Claire says. “Uh…we did a lot of shots. I think we made out while the frat guys played more beer pong?”

“Sounds right,” Al grunts.

“And then we got laid,” Claire finishes. They find the exit of frat house and start their trek back to campus. “You know,” Claire says after a few moments of silence, “I’ve had a decent amount of drunk sex, but that was, like, on a totally different level.”

Al laughs. “Thank you?”

“No, thank _you_.”

Al waves it off. “I think I’m only remembering half of what happened.”

Claire grins. “Then I’m probably remembering the other half that you’ve forgotten.” They reach their building, and Al luckily finds her keys in her pants pocket where she left them. Claire’s sure she’s already lost hers, but Al’s pretty sure Claire never brought them to the party to begin with. Al gets the door open, and they hurry to get on the elevator before anyone else can join them, because they look like a hot mess, and they probably smell like one, too. The elevator ride is silent. Al struggles to get their door unlocked until Claire shoos her aside and gets it in one go.

Al steps in and immediately starts shedding last night’s clothes, swapping them for something she can pass out comfortably in.

“So, uh,” Claire says as Al pulls an oversized band T-shirt over her head.

“Hmm?”

“Is this gonna be weird now?” Claire asks. She leans back against her bed, arms crossed over her chest. “Since we, you know –”

“Fucked?”

“Yeah.”

“Only if you make it weird, sweetheart,” Al says. She digs through her bag and finds her bottle of ibuprofen, swallowing two pills herself before tossing the bottle to Claire. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sleep the rest of today away,” Al informs.

Once classes start, Al and Claire fall into a routine. Claire turns out to be much easier to live with than Al’s last roommate, except Claire has an affinity for parties, and she’s always in need of someone to go with her. And that someone is almost always Al. The parties tend to follow a similar pattern. They arrive, Claire inevitably challenges someone to a beer pong tournament, and Al beats everyone they go up against. Claire and Al celebrate their (well, really Al’s) victory with shots, Claire and Al make out in the backyard behind a tree or a cluster of bushes or something, and they wake up the next morning naked in bed.

By the fifth time, Al has no problem rolling Claire off of her and getting up to collect her clothes as Claire’s waking up.

“Hey,” Claire groans, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Maybe we should talk.”

Al freezes in the middle of pulling her pants up and turns to face the bed. She’s wearing that deer in headlights sort of look, with her hair standing up in all directions, and she has a bra and one sock on, and she’s still only halfway through getting her pants up.

“What?” Al says. She watches as Claire detangles herself from the sheet and leans back against the headboard, apparently unconcerned about being fully naked. Al finally hikes her pants up and buttons them. Her shirt isn’t currently within her line of sight, but Claire’s clothes are, so Al scoops them up and tosses them onto the bed while Claire’s eyes follow her.

“So this seems to keep happening,” Claire says carefully.

“Yeah,” Al says. “I know. I was there.”

Al figures this conversation is due to the fact that last night was the first time they both weren’t even close to being wasted. Al was barely buzzed, and she’s not sure Claire drank anything outside of the beer pong competition, which itself was basically next to nothing. It’s the first time Al has woken up with Claire without a massive headache and with her memories of the previous night totally intact.

“I just – I’m wondering what you think this is,” Claire says. “Wait, that’s a bad way to ask that. What I mean is –”

“I get it,” Al interrupts. She walks around to the other side of the bed and finds her other sock and her shirt. She puts both back on before answering, “I don’t think it’s anything.” She cracks a smile. “Besides stress relief, maybe.”

Claire nods. “Okay, because I, um –”

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Al offers. “If you want it to stop, you can just say so. Don’t worry about sparing my feelings.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “We’re friends, Al. I’m going to spare your feelings if I have to.”

“I’m saying you don’t have to,” Al replies. She motions toward the untouched pile of Claire’s clothes on the bed. “You should put those on.”

Claire sighs and stands, but she doesn’t go for her clothes yet. “Al –”

“Seriously,” Al says with a grin. She runs her through her hair and lets her eyes graze down Claire’s body. If she’s just going to stand there naked, why not?

“I met this guy,” Claire blurts. She sighs again, covers her face with her hand, shakes her head. “In one of my classes,” she mutters. “I think he’s going to ask me out, and if he doesn’t, I’m going to ask him out.”

Al’s jaw hangs open for a moment before she snaps it shut and nods. “And this can’t keep happening if things get serious with this guy.”

“Yeah.”

Al nods again. “Got it,” she says. “Now can you put your clothes on so we can go?”

“I don’t want this to affect our friendship,” Claire says. She snags Al by the forearm before she can walk away, but Al hisses in pain and shakes Claire’s hand off of her. “What?” Claire questions.

Al rolls the sleeve of her shirt up and turns her arm to the side, exactly where Claire had grabbed her. “You sort of – you bit me at some point last night,” Al says. Claire’s eyes examine the bruised flesh that bears distinctive teeth marks that thankfully didn’t break the skin.

“I _bit_ you?”

Al laughs. “Well, I didn’t do it.”

“I don’t even remember!”

Al smirks. “I do.” She pulls her sleeve back down and hits Claire in the bare stomach with the back of her hand. “Get dressed,” Al commands. “I have a project due tomorrow that I haven’t started.”

“Why haven’t you started?” Claire asks. She finally starts putting clothes on.

“I was gonna do it last night, but I was kind of busy –”

“Having four consecutive orgasms?” Claire supplies. “I know. I was there.”

Al grins and shakes her head. “Shut up.”

Al has learned that it’s best to make sure she has all her shit before she leaves the frat house. She pats herself down, finds her keys, the clunky flip phone her brother forced her to buy, and her license. Claire has learned that it’s best if she arrives without anything but the clothes on her back, so she walks back to the dorm with Al to retrieve her things. The door shuts behind them, and they both immediately change into new clothes. Like usual.

“So,” Al says, breaking from the typical routine, “are you going to tell me anything else about this guy?”

Claire glances over as she pulls a fresh shirt on then shrugs. “I don’t know. What do you want to know?”

“The basics. His name. Where he’s from. Maybe like a general description of what he looks like and his major? Normal stuff.”

Claire smiles, but it’s tinged with a sort of sadness. “We don’t have to talk about him,” she says softly.

“I asked,” Al points out. “So that means I want to know.”

“You journalism majors and your questions,” Claire jokes. “His name is Stephen. He’s from here – Boston. He’s got this like lumberjack look about him, you know? Full beard, lots of flannel, tattoos. Actually, his eyebrow is pierced.”

Al’s eyebrows raise. “That’s something.”

“He’s 6’6” and like really muscular but doesn’t play sports,” Claire adds, “which seems like a waste, but whatever. He watches hockey at least, but he’s a Bruins fan. He’s nice. Funny. Oh, and he’s an English major like me, so. We have that in common.”

“As long as he’s not an asshole to you,” Al says. She hoists herself up onto her bed, pulling her backpack with her. She digs up the assignment’s instructions and heaves out this bulky camera and a box of blank compact cassette tapes.

“They make you carry that?” Claire questions. She climbs up onto her own bed across from Al’s and stretches out, groaning.

“Not normally. I just have a project that requires it.”

“Is it yours or are you borrowing it from the school?”

“No, I bought it,” Al says. “I didn’t have to, but it’s kind of cool, actually.”

“What’s the project about?” Claire asks.

“I just have to interview someone about something that’s affected them,” Al says nonchalantly. “Nothing too major. I already have a basic outline of the questions I want to ask, and once I get the interview, I have to write a six page paper about the experience. I don’t know. I can hammer that out in, like, two hours.”

“Who are you going to interview?” Claire asks.

Al looks over and smiles wryly. “Well, I was gonna ask my ex-girlfriend, but I don’t actually think she’d say yes, so maybe I’ll ask Jayden.”

“Is that one of your friends?”

Al laughs. “What? You think I don’t have friends here? I am deeply offended and insulted, Claire Bryant.”

“Well, to be fair, I’ve never met them, Al-something-ridiculously-long-and-Polish.”

Al rolls her eyes and says, “Szewczek-Przygocki.”

“Yeah, that. How do you say that so fast?”

“It’s my name,” Al says.

“Your parents really screwed you with a name like that.”

Al grunts. “Yeah, I know.”

Claire sits up and swings her legs off the side of the bed so she faces Al. “So are you ever going to ask to interview me or do I have to do it for you?”

Al’s stunned expression goes away after a few moments. “Uh, I –”

“Like this,” Claire says. She clears her throat and uses a lower tone of voice when she says, “Hey, Claire, would it be cool if I interviewed you for this project I have to do for my class?” Claire clears her throat again and says in her normal voice, “Yeah, that’d be really cool! I’d love to do it. Then you’d say –”

“Okay, I get it,” Al interrupts, fighting off a smile. “Do you want me to interview you for my project?”

“I think I just made that pretty clear,” Claire replies. “So, yes. Now this is where you thank me for saving you from an awkward conversation with your ex-girlfriend or Jayden who’s probably not even that good of a friend of yours.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Claire replies. She slides off her bed and heads for the door, turning back only when Al doesn’t follow her. “Come on,” Claire insists. “We aren’t doing the interview in our dorm. That’s weird.”

Claire leads Al outside and sits herself down against a tree, forcing Al to crouch in the grass in front of her. Al waits patiently while Claire ensures that she looks camera ready, and Al double checks that she’s all set by the time Claire announces that she’s good.

“Let’s start with your name and where you’re from,” Al says. She fixes the camera so Claire’s head and shoulders are in the frame as Claire acts like she’s carefully considering her answer.

“Claire Bryant,” she says. “And I’m from Chicago.”

“You lived in the city?”

“No,” Claire snorts. “But if I tell you the name of the suburb I’m in, you’re just going to be like _where’s that_ , so I might as well just start with Chicago.”

Al smiles, mostly to herself, then says, “Tell me what you’ve seen.”

“What I’ve seen?” Claire questions. She bursts out laughing. “What kind of question is that?”

“A purposefully vague one.”

“Huh,” Claire says. “Well, give me a second to think of something interesting to say to your purposefully vague question. A heads up before we started filming would’ve been nice.”

“It’s better if you don’t have time to prepare,” Al replies. “Just tell me the first thing that pops into your mind. What’ve you seen?”

“Well, I saw this movie last week –”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Claire laughs. “You should’ve specified then.” Her lighthearted demeanor quickly drops, and she swallows hard. Al holds off on asking her if she’s alright, but suddenly, Al’s heart beats harder in her chest. “Uh, actually, you know how I flew home last weekend?”

“Yeah,” Al says softly.

“I – I saw my brother,” Claire says. She refuses to look into the camera now, refuses to look anywhere near Al, instead staring off at the students passing by on the walkway behind Al.

“Tell me about him.”

A smile flickers on Claire’s face, but it’s replaced by a troubled expression. “His name is Caine. I know, Caine and Claire, my parents chose to be alliterative. He’s older than me,” Claire explains quietly. “By three years. He went to the University of Illinois but dropped out after his first two years. He’s brilliant, but he hates school because he’s a terrible test-taker.”

“Why’d you fly back to see him?” Al asks.

Claire pauses for a long moment. “You see, he was in New York on 9/11. Not anywhere near the Towers, you know, but he was in the city. So I guess he became one of those guys that felt like they needed to do something. Since he dropped out of school, he’s just been working for my dad. So he quit and he enlisted, and I flew back to say goodbye before he deployed.”

Al, quite frankly, isn’t sure of what to say. She glances down at her notepad, but the rest of her question seem so irrelevant now. Al swallows then whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Claire smiles slightly and shrugs. “Don’t be.”

“I’m sure he’ll be – I’m sure everything will work out,” Al says.

Claire nods but murmurs, “Not everyone comes home, Al.”

Al decides that’s a good stopping place, mostly because she really can’t think of anything else to say. So she shuts the camera off and sits back on her ass, because crouching is starting to hurt. Al stares at the grass between her legs for a while, and Claire stares off into space some more.

“You better get a good ass grade on this project,” Claire finally says. Al looks up at the same moment that Claire stops staring into space, and their eyes lock. “I haven’t told anyone,” Claire admits. “Except you. Right now.”

Al nods. “Thank you. For doing this, and for taking it seriously.”

Claire smiles a little wider this time and gets to her feet. “C’mon,” she says. She holds her hand out to Al. “Let’s go eat something.”

Al takes her hand and lets Claire pull her up. “Maybe you should ask Stephen out,” Al suggests. “Instead of waiting.”

“No, I’m gonna wait,” Claire says with a smirk. “I’ve gotta see if he has any balls.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Claire shrugs. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter if we fuck every night until the end of the year, does it?”

Al inhales sharply and mutters, “No, I guess it doesn’t matter then.” She hesitates, grabbing Claire by the wrist to stop her. “Actually, I’m gonna head back to the room,” Al says. “I can eat later. I should really get started on the paper I have to write for this.”

“Okay,” Claire says. “You want me to bring you something?”

“If you could, yeah. I’ll pay you back.”

Claire snorts. “You aren’t going to pay me back. What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

“Gotcha,” Claire says. They part ways, but when Al reaches the room, the last thing she wants to do is write the damn paper. She doesn’t have much of a choice, but first, she watches Claire’s tape. When she’s done, she places a strip of masking tape on the edge, grabs a Sharpie, and carefully writes _Claire Bryant_ along the tape in all caps, so it’s legible.

Al nearly falls off the bed when the flip phone she hasn’t touched since she bought it begins to ring. She has to hop down anyway to retrieve the phone and accepts the call.

“Yeah?”

“Allie,” Jesse says.

Al rolls her eyes. “Jess,” she replies. “What’s up?” When she receives silence on the other end, she adds, “Surely you didn’t call just to see what I’m doing, right? You’ve never called before.”

“Al,” Jesse says quietly.

“Yeah?” Al says. “Spit it out.”

“Todd’s dead.”

The phone almost slips out of Al’s hand. “What?” she whispers. “What are you talking about?”

Jesse sighs heavily. “I’m so sorry, Al. They found him in his apartment. It was an accidental overdose. At least, that’s what they think. Apparently he’s been hooked on pain pills since you guys were in high school.”

Al hears the words, but she doesn’t fully process the meaning behind them. She hasn’t seen Todd, or even spoken to him, in years. And she’s heard rumors of his drug addiction for years, too, but she never thought –

“Al, are you there?”

Al exhales raggedly. “Yeah, I – are you sure it’s him?”

“His parents identified the body. His mom called ours, asked us to pass the information to you.” Jesse pauses then quietly says, “Because his mom knows you two were friends at one time.”

“Okay,” Al says numbly. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Al, if you need –”

Al hangs up. She sets the phone down and pulls herself back up onto her bed. She moves the camera and Claire’s tape aside. She faces the wall and curls up, pressing her face into her pillow. She’s aware that Claire’s going to be on her way back soon, and she tries to keep it together, but her composure doesn’t last long. She barely hears the door open and shut, and Al doesn’t see the way Claire skids to a stop, doesn’t see Claire’s smile immediately slide, doesn’t see her set the to-go box on the desk. Al doesn’t even realize Claire is there until her hand’s on Al’s arm.

“Hey,” Claire says softly. “What’s wrong?”

Al’s not capable of answering, still muffling sobs into her pillow and keeping her back turned to Claire. She reaches back and tries to knock Claire’s hand aside, tries to wave her away, but Claire does the exact opposite of what Al wants and hauls herself up onto the bed, taking a seat behind Al. She rubs Al’s arm and waits, hoping Al will calm down enough to be able to tell her what’s going on. But the gentle arm rubbing only serves to work Al up further.

“Okay,” Claire breathes. “You’re freaking me out, Schester-Pierogi. That’s not your name. I know that. I’m sorry. Now I’m rambling. I’m sorry for that too.” Claire pauses. “This isn’t my fault, is it? It’s not because of the interview, right, because –” Claire shuts herself up when Al manages to shake her head. “Oh,” Claire exhales. “Okay. We’ll, uh, we’ll talk later.”

Al waits for Claire to get off her bed, but instead, Claire lowers herself beside Al, molds her front against Al’s back and secures her arm around Al’s stomach. Al grasps onto Claire’s hand, but she doesn’t have the strength left to try to pry Claire’s arm off of her. So she links their fingers together and holds on instead. Claire stops talking, thankfully, until Al finally wears herself out and has no tears left to shed.

Claire waits approximately two minutes before she asks, “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Al takes a few deep breaths. She doesn’t want to speak until she’s sure her voice isn’t going to do something embarrassing, like break or be really shrill. She buys herself extra time by rolling beneath Claire’s arm, facing her even though she’s sure her eyes are red and puffy.

“My friend is dead,” Al whispers. “My brother called –” Al’s voice breaks, and she squeezes her eyes shut as Claire strokes her cheek, swiping away the tears with her thumb.

“Oh, Al, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s stupid,” Al says through her teeth. “I haven’t even seen him in years.”

“Still, baby.”

Al notices the slip before Claire inhales sharply but doesn’t call attention to it. She doesn’t even open her eyes. Claire’s hand stays on her face, and Al knots her hand in Claire’s shirt against her waist, but she doesn’t know if she wants to push her away or pull her in. She wants to do both at the same time, but that’s not really possible. So she just holds on and tries not to think about how this is probably the most intimate moment she’s ever shared with Claire even though they’ve fucked five times.

“I guess this would be a bad time to say Stephen asked me out in the cafeteria,” Claire murmurs.

Al barks a short laugh and agrees, “Yeah. Terrible timing.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not good at comforting people, so um, just come here.”

“No, it’s – I’m fine. I swear. You can just go.”

“I’m not going to go,” Claire says. She runs her fingers through Al’s hair, pushes it back from her forehead. “Tell me what I can do.”

“You can shut up.”

Claire hums. “Noted.”

“So you keep talking?”

Claire grins as their eyes meet. “I can’t help it. I’m an idiot.”

Al’s eyes roll. “No, you just don’t know how to handle awkward situations very well.”

“That, too, but I’m also failing two of my classes, and we’re barely over a month in.”

“Claire –”

“No,” Claire cuts in. “This isn’t about me. We can talk about my issues later.”

“I don’t want to talk about mine, so you might as well distract me.”

Claire smirks. “What kind of distraction?”

“Not that kind.”

“Right. I was kidding. Obviously.”

That draws a smile out of Al, and Claire drags her fingers through Al’s hair once more.

“You have really nice hair,” Claire comments.

“It’s finally growing back in after the last lady that cut it fucked it up.”

“I thought it was nice.”

“It was terrible.”

“I still slept with you, so, it wasn’t that bad.”

“What does that have to do with my hair?” Al chuckles. She wipes away the remaining wetness on her face with her palm and meets Claire’s eyes.

“Come on, you’re smarter than me. You should be able to work this out for yourself.”

“Then pretend I’m dumb and spell it out for me.”

“I’ve slept with you, and I only sleep with hot people, so obviously that means you’re hot, even if you think your hair is fucked up.”

“It’s less fucked up now than it was when we met.”

“I thought it was good.”

Al doesn’t respond. She stares into Claire’s eyes, noticing that, in certain lighting, the gray’s actually tinged with blue. She gets a strange urge to document it – the camera’s close by – but Al pushes that urge away.

“So did you intend to sleep with your new roommate or did it just happen?”

Claire laughs. “I just told you, sort of. You’re hot, and I made it work out.”

Al closes her eyes again. “So where’s Stephen taking you on a first date?”

“We don’t have to talk about Stephen.”

“No, we should.”

“Why?”

“Because I –” Al falters. “Forget it. I have a paper to write.”

Al tries to sit up, but Claire grabs her by the arm and forces her back down. “You can take another five minutes,” Claire says.

“Seriously, I need to –”

Claire’s fingers hook around the back of Al’s head and pulls her in, kissing her to shut her up. Al braces her hand against Claire’s stomach but doesn’t push her back – not yet, at least. It’s weird, kissing her totally sober and knowing it’s not going to lead to anything more. It’s even weirder because Claire agreed to go out with Stephen just, like, twenty minutes ago.

Al’s the one to push back. “I guess I’ll have to go back to Texas for the funeral,” Al says.

“Don’t think about that right now.”

“You’re right. I have a paper –”

“Shut up about the goddamn paper.”

Al presses her hand against Claire’s chest to stop her from kissing her again. “Stephen,” Al reminds.

“It’s one date.”

“You like him.”

Claire hesitates. “Maybe? I don’t know. I haven’t gone on the date yet.”

“You were right this morning. We should stop. Go on your date and –”

“And what?” Claire challenges. “Fall in love and get married and have his babies? Please.”

“I didn’t say –”

“You’re really trying to push me off on Stephen, aren’t you?”

An indignant look crosses Al’s face, and she sits upright. Claire follows, blocking her exit from the bed, and raises her eyebrows.

“You’re the one going after Stephen,” Al finally says.

“Well, maybe I changed my mind!”

“That quick?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Al, can you just – I mean, we had, like, a real moment earlier, so now…”

“Now what?”

Claire shakes her head and refuses to look Al in the eye. “Now, I don’t know. I’m – I just don’t know.”

“Don’t know _what_?”

“What to do,” Claire says quietly. “I feel like I should go on that date with Stephen, but I don’t know if I really want to anymore.”

“Why not?”

Claire huffs, and her lips twist into a smile. She jabs her finger against Al’s chest as her answer.

“Me?” Al questions.

“You’re confusing.”

Al laughs. “How? What have I done?”

“You got me to open up – on camera – and now you’re trying to push me off on Stephen.”

“I’m not –”

“It’s because you have feelings, isn’t it?” Claire guesses. When Al doesn’t respond, she nods to herself, humming. “Yeah. Okay. There’s no such thing as no strings attached sex, is there?”

“It’s not just the sex,” Al defends. “I mean, you’re good but you’re not _that_ good. It’s – it’s part of it, sure, but we live together, we – we’re _friends_ and I – I don’t know, Claire. I guess I just have a history of falling for people that I shouldn’t.”

Claire’s face softens. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, no one ever stays.” Al manages to get around Claire and jump off the bed. “Now I really have to write that paper. If you aren’t going to let me do it here, I’ll go to the library.”

Claire sighs, running her hand through her hair wearily, and leaves Al’s bed for her own. “Write it,” she says. “Just don’t make too much noise. I’m going to sleep.” Claire strips to her underwear, swaps her bra for a tank top, and climbs into bed. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she adds before turning her back to Al and going to sleep.

Al submits the assignment on time and gets an A plus a comment from the professor that her project was the best in the class. Al can’t even bring herself to be happy about it, but she drops it onto Claire’s empty bed when she returns to her room after class. She calls Jesse to get the date for Todd’s funeral and buys her plane ticket.

Claire gets back late, when Al’s already half asleep, and she stubs her toe on the corner of the bed through the darkness and curses loud enough to wake Al up if she wasn’t already halfway conscious. Al lifts her head, squinting, and rolls over.

“S’going on?” Al mumbles.

“Sorry,” Claire grunts. “ _Fuck_ , that hurt.”

“Turn the light on,” Al says. “I’m already up. Might as well.”

Claire flicks the light on. She spots the rubric on her bed, with the cassette taped to it. Claire’s eyebrows pull together, and she skims over the sheet.

“You got an A?”

“Best in the class,” Al corrects. “Thought you should see.”

Claire peels the cassette free then tosses it onto Al’s bed. “Keep that,” Claire says. “I don’t have any use for it. Maybe it’ll mean something one day.”

Al stores the tape carefully in the drawer below her bed then manages to ask, “So the date went well?”

Claire laughs bitterly and starts taking her pants off. “No. It was – it was pretty bad.”

“Why?”

“He’s boring as _shit_ ,” Claire says. “God, I couldn’t take it. All I could think about the whole time was –” Claire shakes her head then mutters, “You.” Claire finishes changing and gets into bed. “Goodnight,” Claire says.

“You forgot to turn the light off.”

“Right.”

So Al goes back to Texas for the funeral. She sees her brother and avoids her parents, though she’s forced to spend the night at the home she grew up in. She flies back to school the day after, and she swears to herself she’s never going back to Texas if she can help it.

The Saturday after, Al attends another frat party with Claire. Sunday morning, Al wakes up in a bed that isn’t hers beneath Claire. And that’s pretty much how the rest of college goes for Al.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Claire is loosely based off this girl I had a crush on for the longest time. I will say this: she was really tall, had short bleached hair, and had these really gorgeous grayish blue eyes. And I was in love lol.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as I can!


	4. Twenty-Five through Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's some fairly graphic violence this chapter, though some of it's more implied than anything. I'll spoil a piece of it: there's depictions of a very young undead child this chapter, so be aware if that's not something you think you want to handle. It gets a bit dark near the end, but I think that's pretty normal for the show at least.
> 
> Also I really love this chapter - particularly the end, even though it makes me feel like a terrible person - so I hope you guys enjoy it, too.

Al’s in London chasing a story. Actually, that’s how most of the stories Al tells to people begin. In fact, a lot of those stories begin like this: Al was chasing a story, and then there was a girl. So Al’s in London, chasing a story, and then there’s a girl. Al quite literally runs for her life, so she bets she’s getting a lot of good, shaky footage of the ground. She sprints through traffic, earning herself plenty of blowing horns and dirty stares, and she hopes it’s enough to shake the guys that are following her.

Maybe this time she couldn’t hold up her end of the deal when it came to getting a story, but this story’s worth it. As long as Al doesn’t end up with a bullet in her brain, of course. She continues sprinting even though her lungs are screaming, glancing over her shoulder to see if she’s still being tailed. She rounds a corner before she looks back at where she’s going and plows into an unsuspecting citizen.

The woman cries out as she goes sprawling to the street with Al, and Al barely keep ahold of her camera, clutching it against her chest at the last second. The last thing she needs to do is destroy her tape.

“Watch it!” the woman snaps. Al scrambles to her feet, gasping for air, and she pulls the woman up with her in spite of the woman’s protests. “What do you think you’re doing?” the woman demands. Her accent suggests she’s probably from London – which would make way too much sense – and she stares bug-eyed at Al, but Al can barely breathe, let alone speak.

“I – I’m running from – these guys,” she manages to get out.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” the woman questions. “C’mon. My place is around the corner. We can wait ‘em out there.”

Al chases a story, then there’s a girl.

They move quickly, holing up in the woman’s home while the men tire themselves out from searching for Al. Al drops into one of the chairs at the woman’s kitchen table and catches her breath, accepting the water placed in front of her.

“Well,” the woman says, “I’m Hannah. You are?”

Al swallows her mouthful of water and answers, “Al.”

“Al?”

“Yeah.”

Hannah smirks. “An American.”

“I haven’t been in America in a while,” Al admits. She takes a moment to look over Hannah. Light brown skin. Green eyes. Her hair’s twisted up, and she’s wearing a T-shirt with the name of a local bar on the front.

“Why were you running from someone?” Hannah asks.

“Right,” Al says. “Um – wait, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Hannah smiles and shakes her head. “I’m fine, hon. I’m more worried about the fact that I’ve invited you in and I don’t know if you’ve murdered someone or not.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Al says. She motions toward the camera on the table. “I’m a journalist. I told these four guys if they talked to me about the riots that have been happening out here, I’d, uh, well we made a deal, and I backed out of it. So yeah. They probably want to kill me, but I got the story.”

Hannah hums, standing with her hands on her hips. “All that for a story?”

“Yeah. I don’t expect you to get it.”

“No, I understand,” Hannah says. “We all have our priorities.”

Al nods. “Thanks,” she finally says. “For letting me hide in your home.”

Hannah laughs. “Yeah, of course.” She pauses. “You know, I might be able to tell you a thing or two about those riots. A lot of people pass through the pub I work at.”

“That would be great,” Al says. “But I still don’t think I can breathe right yet.”

“Well calm down, Speed Racer,” Hannah teases. “I’m just gonna change real quick, since you’ll be filming me.”

“I mean, you already look great,” Al says.

“So you’re one of those flatterers,” Hannah says. “Let me guess: you flirted with those guys you interviewed, promised something you never intended to follow through on, and now, by sheer dumb luck, you’re here.”

“Pretty much,” Al admits. “It’s worked out so far.”

Hannah snorts. “Anyway, I do _not_ look great. I look like I’ve just come from work – because I have. So I’m going to change, and then we can talk.”

“Seriously, you actually do look…great.”

Al mentally curses herself for being so fucking awkward, but in the end, it’s worth it, because it draws another smile from Hannah, even as she shakes her head.

“You won’t be able to flatter me, Al.”

“I’m not trying to. I swear.”

“Don’t tell me that was an actual attempt at flirting.”

“No?”

Hannah grins. “You’re cute,” she says. “I’ll be right back. Don’t bolt in the meantime.”

“I won’t,” Al calls after Hannah. Even if she wanted to bolt, she has a bad feeling those guys are still hanging around somewhere. Al gulps down the rest of the water and tries to calm her nerves while Hannah’s gone. She loads a fresh tape into the camera, carefully labeling the last one then placing it securely in the pocket inside her jacket. Hannah returns in new clothes, though she keeps it casual, and she takes a seat at the table across from Al.

Before Al can ask her if she’s ready for the interview, Hannah asks, “So how well do you know London?”

Al hesitates. “I’ve been here three weeks,” Al says. “And I’m still constantly getting lost.”

“But you still ran from those guys in a city you barely know?”

“I don’t think things through all the time,” Al mutters. “I just chase the story.”

“Sounds like you’re pretty dedicated to your craft.”

Al’s eyebrows lift then fall. “The truth matters,” she says. Al gets the camera going. “It’s a pretty simple interview,” Al explains. “Just start by telling me your name, where you’re from, and what you’ve seen.”

“Hannah. I’m from London.” Hannah’s lips curl into a smile. “And I’ve seen a lot of drunk guys talking about the riots.”

She dives into detail, recalling everything that pops into her mind for Al and the camera. She talks for nearly an hour, and Al just watches, mesmerized. She chimes in with a question once in a while, of course, but mostly, she listens. And the riot stuff is fascinating, but Hannah –

“Al? You’re still filming? I stopped talking two minutes ago, darling.”

Al snaps out of the trance and shuts the camera off, clearing her throat. “Right,” she says. “Sorry.”

“Quite alright.” Hannah pauses. “How far is your hotel from here?”

“Pretty far,” Al admits.

Hannah stands and says, “I’ll figure out something for dinner then find you a place to sleep. Sound okay?”

“Uh…yeah. Sure. I mean, if you want, I can go –”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannah says. She throws Al a wink and adds, “I can’t let you get murdered in the streets of London. I’m starting to like you.”

It’s the same thing, over and over. Al chases a story, then there’s a girl, and then the girl leaves. It’s just a part of the life Al has chosen for herself. But she spends the night on Hannah’s couch, mostly watching news coverage of the rioting, and she does eventually sleep a bit. The next day, Hannah calls off work and shows her around the city. Hannah lets Al borrow a jacket, and Al keeps her beanie pulled over her hair, so hopefully, if any of those guys are still around, they won’t recognize her.

Al doesn’t even bring the camera with her. She just walks around the city with Hannah, and they talk about things unrelated to the ongoing rioting just outside of the city – though it’s quickly making its way inward – and it’s the first real break Al has had basically since she graduated from college.

“So what’s Texas like?” Hannah finally asks. “You did say you’re from Texas, right?”

“Yeah,” Al says. “Yeah, it’s – honestly, I haven’t been back in years.”

“Why not?”

Al smiles bitterly. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Why not?” Hannah repeats.

“My family’s there. My parents. I mean, my brother’s there, too, but he’s on the opposite side of the state now.”

“And what’s wrong with your parents?”

Al fidgets with the collar of the jacket she’s borrowing from Hannah and gnaws on the inside of her cheek. She’s not used to being on the other end of the questions. “They’re super religious is all,” Al says quietly.

“Not your thing?”

“When you’re the only gay kid in your town and your parents think being gay is evil? Yeah, not my thing.”

“Oh,” Hannah says. “I’m sorry.”

Al waves it off. “It was a long time ago,” she mutters.

“I doubt it’ll make you feel any better,” Hannah says, “but my parents always insisted my bisexuality was a phase. They always told me I’d pick a side eventually.”

“I’m sorry,” Al says.

Hannah smirks. “It was a long time ago.” She bumps her shoulder against Al’s. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring the camera.”

“I was afraid those guys would still be around and would recognize me.”

Hannah laughs. “Of course.”

“And, uh, maybe I just wanted to, you know, get to know you?”

“There you go, sweetheart,” Hannah says. “Are you always this awkward with women, or is it just me?”

Al inhales sharply then hesitates. “My relationships tend not to last very long.”

“Not with your line of work, I’m sure,” Hannah says.

“Not even before that.”

“So bad luck?”

“Maybe.”

Hannah smiles and shrugs. “Maybe your luck will turn around.”

“I doubt it,” Al mutters. “I move too much. The story always comes before me, and most women don’t like having a ‘job’ placed ahead of them. Normally it doesn’t go that far, though. Normally I say I’m leaving for a new place halfway around the world and they bail then and there.”

Hannah thinks for a moment. “Maybe I’m looking for a way out.”

“What?”

“Of London,” Hannah clarifies. “The shit’s going to hit the fan sooner or later. It’s probably best to tie myself to someone who knows a way out.”

“That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well,” Hannah says, bumping her hip into Al’s, “I _did_ say yesterday that I was starting to like you.”

They’re barely in the door of Hannah’s place before their clothes start coming off, and Al makes a mental note not to get too attached. It never works out, and it’ll be that much harder to leave when the time comes. They don’t even make it to the bedroom, opting for the couch instead. Al wakes up sometime in the middle of the night beneath a warm body, and her leg is covered by the blanket that Hannah is otherwise hogging. Al smiles to herself and goes back to sleep. When she wakes up again in the early morning, Hannah’s in the kitchen, wearing just Al’s shirt, making a pot of coffee. Al only returns to the hotel to grab her things and check out.

When the time comes to leave London, Hannah quits her job, puts her place up for sale, and follows Al halfway around the world. When Hannah announces this to Al, Al’s afraid to question it. Afraid she’s going to ask Hannah if she’s sure and the answer’s going to be _no_. But Hannah dumps the stuff she can’t take at a friend’s place, packs her bags, and gets on the damn plane with Al.

Hannah, it turns out, doesn’t do so well on planes and spends the entire flight clinging to Al’s arm and jumping at every little bump the plane hits. Hannah angrily shoves the camera away when Al tries to film her, but they both break out in giggles when the flight attendant comes to make sure they’re doing okay. It’s roughly a twenty hour flight from London to Sydney, and as much as Al wants to sleep once it’s dark, Hannah keeps her awake.

“If you’re gonna keep me up, we have to talk,” Al mumbles.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“When’s the last time you were in America?”

Al doesn’t open her eyes, but she thinks about the question. “Two years ago. My friend’s brother died in Iraq, and I flew from Cairo to Chicago to go to his funeral.”

Hannah hesitates half a second before she murmurs, “Were you ever in Iraq?”

“For a bit, yeah.”

“What was it like?”

“Well, there was a war going on,” Al says. “So really fucking horrible, actually.”

“I’m sorry if I –”

“No, it’s okay,” Al interrupts softly. “It’s just – I don’t really talk about that stuff.”

“But you film it.”

“I film it.”

“And you talk to people.”

“I talk to people.”

“But they don’t really talk to you, do they?” Hannah questions. Al’s eyes open and she rolls her head so she can look at Hannah.

“I don’t understand.”

“They tell you their story – who they are, what they’ve seen – but you don’t tell yours.”

“Why would I?”

“Because that’s how you make connections with people, sweetheart. They tell you things, you tell them things, and bam, suddenly you’re married with two-point-five kids and you’re a suburban housewife.”

Al laughs, quietly so she doesn’t disturb any of the sleeping passengers, and says, “I’ll never be a suburban housewife.”

“That’s just one example,” Hannah says. She doesn’t release the hold she’s had on Al’s arm since they took off hours ago, but she does slide down in her seat and rest her head against Al’s shoulder. “I get that the story matters, love, but people matter, too.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you should have someone you can rely on,” Hannah continues.

“Are you saying it’s going to be you?”

“Darling, it’s already me.”

“We’ve known each other for a whole two months.”

“And?” Hannah questions. “What’s your point?”

“I guess I don’t have one.”

“Exactly,” Hannah says. “I’m following you halfway around the world so you can chase the next story on your list. Of course I’m the person you rely on.”

“Then maybe you should just seal the deal and marry me,” Al jokes.

They laugh together before Hannah says, “It’s way too early for that, and you know it.”

“I was kidding.”

Hannah smiles and trades her hold on Al’s arm for her hand, clutching on with both of her own. “For now,” Hannah says. “Get back to me in another year or so. We’ll see where we’re at.”

In another year, Al’s job has her tied up in Los Angeles long enough that she and Hannah rent an apartment, and Hannah picks up a job as a bartender. Al leaves early and comes home late, but often times, she still manages to beat Hannah home from the bar. At least half the time, Al’s too beat to walk to the bedroom and passes out on the couch. More often than not, when Al passes out on the couch, she wakes up with Hannah curled up at her side and a blanket thrown over them. But mostly over Hannah. For the first time since Al started her career, she hates to leave in the mornings.

On the day they’ve officially been in Los Angeles for an entire month, Al manages to stop working early and drops by a jeweler. That turns out to basically be work, though, because she spends over an hour browsing, painstakingly studying every ring the salesman hands her. It takes over an hour, but she finds the perfect one and walks out with it. The bar’s only a few blocks away, and Al’s heart pounds wildly in her chest the entire walk there.

Maybe she should’ve dressed nicer. Maybe she shouldn’t do it in the bar Hannah’s only working at because Al’s paychecks are sporadic, their savings only go so far, and they could use the extra cash. Maybe she should wait and do it at home at midnight when they’re both dead tired instead.

Al walks into the bar, eyes scanning the place until they land on Hannah behind the counter. It’s four in the afternoon, but there are people at the bar. Only a few, though. Hannah’s busy making some sort of drink with her back turned to the bar, giving Al the chance to take a seat without being immediately noticed. The box on the inside of her jacket pocket hardly weighs anything, but it feels like it’s a hundred pounds. God, Hannah’s going to turn around and Al’s going to stumble over her words and look like an idiot in front of the dude who looks like he’s in a motorcycle gang and this middle aged blonde woman who looks like she’s seen some shit.

Hannah delivers the drink to the dude at the opposite end of the bar and only then notices Al. Her face immediately lights up, and she rushes back to the other side to hug her from across the bar.

“What are you doing here?” Hannah asks as she pulls back, placing her hands on each side of Al’s face.

“Got off early,” Al says nonchalantly, but her mouth has gone completely dry. “Thought I’d stop by. Visit.”

“You want a drink,” Hannah guesses.

“Yeah, I kind of do.”

“I hope you aren’t going back to work then,” Hannah says. She pours a shot of whiskey before Al asks and sets it in front of her. Al pulls her money clip from her pocket and slaps twenty dollars into Hannah’s hand.

“Keep the change,” Al jokes as Hannah’s eyes roll.

“You’re so funny, love,” Hannah says wryly. “You never tip that well.”

“When the bartender’s hot, I do.”

“I better be the only hot bartender you’re tipping,” Hannah says, pointing a stern finger at Al. She can’t keep it up, though, and immediately breaks into a grin. “Seriously, you can’t just be here because you decided to get off early. What’s going on?”

Al throws the shot back before answering. “I had something to ask you.”

“It couldn’t wait?”

“Until tonight?” Al questions. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Well, Ryan will be in soon, and I bet he won’t mind covering me if you want to go talk,” Hannah says. Al thinks quickly. This is her chance to pick a better place than this dimly lit bar, but even after a month, Los Angeles feels unfamiliar.

“No, I’ll be quick,” Al promises. “It’s a simple question.” She reaches into her jacket, fully aware that Hannah’s eyes are tracking her every movement, and she pulls free the little black box, popping it open. “Will you marry me?”

Hannah stares at the ring inside the little box then at Al’s face then at the blonde woman then back at the ring. “You’re serious?” Hannah asks.

Al laughs and hopes she doesn’t sound too nervous. “Yeah? I’m holding a ring, right? There’s a ring in there, right? Because I paid for a ring, so it better be –”

“Yes,” Hannah says. “Oh my God, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes! But I’m not taking your last name.”

“Good,” Al laughs, “because you can barely say it.”

Hannah grabs Al by the jacket and nearly pulls her over the bar, kissing her hard but fast. She is on the clock, after all. The blonde woman applauds and offers congratulations once Al manages to get the ring on Hannah’s finger, and the dude at the other end of the bar has passed out. Hannah beams, holding her hand out and staring at the ring.

“It’s perfect,” Hannah declares. “How’d you know?”

Al shrugs. “I’m just good.”

Hannah pauses. “I should call that guy a cab,” she says, pointing at the passed out dude. “But as soon as Ryan gets here, we’re going out.”

“Out?”

“Out,” Hannah confirms.

“Out where?” Al asks.

“Somewhere fun. And we’re going to dance and drink and _celebrate_ without either of our jobs interfering, and then we’re going to find someone to marry us.”

Al laughs. “That soon? You know we can wait a bit. Stay engaged for a while.”

“I don’t want to stay engaged for a while,” Hannah says. She grasps Al’s hands in her own. “And I know you don’t, either. So let’s find someone, get married before we have to leave LA, and we’ll be set.”

“You want to get married in LA?” Al asks. “You don’t want to go back to London –”

“God, no,” Hannah scoffs. “Go back to London so my parents can tell me I chose the wrong side and should be marrying a man? Fuck that. I’ll marry you here, then we can go anywhere you want for the rest of our lives.”

Al grins. “You mean it?”

“Of course!” The door opens and slams shut, and Hannah shouts, “Ryan! I’m leaving! It’s all you, bud!”

“What?” Ryan says. “Aren’t you supposed to be here for another four hours at least?”

“She just got engaged,” the blonde woman pipes up. “Cut her a little slack.”

Hannah holds her hand up for Ryan to see, and he sighs but dismisses her. So they go out and dance and drink and wake up on the couch the next morning. Hannah, true to her word, wastes no time in finding someone to marry them, and before they leave Los Angeles for Mumbai, they’re married. Hannah cracks a joke about having that blonde woman at the bar be one of the witnesses, but Al points out that they’ll never be able to track that woman down and that Hannah should’ve asked while they were there. To Al’s surprise, Jesse flies out from Texas to attend, and a couple of Hannah’s coworkers – including Ryan – show up, too. It’s a nice, small ceremony; it’s everything Al could’ve ever asked for. And for that next year, Al’s happier than she’s ever been.

Of course, Al gets screwed again, only this time, it's because people have started eating each other. The end result is still the same: Al's left heartbroken and alone. It’s pure coincidence that they’re in Houston when shit starts to go down. Al knew she had a bad feeling about returning to Texas when she was sent to investigate those weird reports of strange attacks. She should’ve listened to her gut, flown them to a remote part of the world and built a house in a tree forty feet above the ground. It’s a nice fantasy, but the reality is, Al and Hannah are all but throwing shit into their car, and Al’s got the Beretta she bought legally upon her return holstered at her hip, ammunition stacked in the backseat alongside a rifle she acquired not-so-legally.

The city really isn’t the place to be when all this starts happening, but you live and you learn, Al supposes. Houston’s roughly four hours from her brother’s place near Dallas, if the freeways hold up. That’s their only plan so far. Make it to Jesse’s, grab them, and go.

A few blocks from the apartment complex, shots are fired. Al’s head whips in the direction of the shots – rapid fire, like a machine gun, but in downtown _Houston_? That isn’t the police.

“Oh my God,” Hannah breathes, clutching onto Al’s free arm as the other slams the trunk shut.

“It’s close,” Al says. She reaches into the backseat for her camera, but Hannah grabs her around the waist and pulls her back. “Hey! I need to get –”

“Hon, the story has to wait,” Hannah says in an eerily calm fashion considering the machine gun fire hasn’t stopped once yet. “We need to go now. We need to get out of Houston.”

“But –”

“You can’t get the story if you’re dead,” Hannah says softly. She trails her fingers along Al’s jaw, and Al lets her eyes shut for a moment. “It has to wait for now,” Hannah adds. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I think you should drive.”

“I think so too,” Al says. Hannah slaps the keys into her hand, and Al fires up the engine. She really should’ve anticipated hitting the worst traffic in Houston’s history, as everyone and their mother attempts to flee the city. Al’s leg bounces incessantly, and she taps her fingers against the steering wheel as her other hand flips through the radio stations. She listens closely for any indication of what the machine gun fire was about, but no one seems to know. Someone muses it has something to do with the strange reports that have been coming out of California and the rest of the West Coast for a week or so. Eventually, Hannah pulls Al’s hand away from the radio, shuts it off, and holds onto Al’s hand in her lap as they sit in standstill traffic in Houston.

“I can’t just sit here anymore,” Al announces. She reaches for the door handle, but Hannah yanks her back by the hand, hard.

“No, babe, don’t!”

Al turns back and falters at the sheer terror in Hannah’s green eyes. “Han –”

“Don’t,” Hannah whispers. “Stay in the car.”

Al presses her lips together. “I don’t stay in the car,” she says softly.

“Then stay with me,” Hannah amends. “I mean, we’re in the car, but that’s a less important piece.”

Al manages a small smile, more for Hannah’s sake than her own, but nods. The Beretta’s concealed in the center console between them, and Al had thrown a blanket over the rifle in the back, just in case some cop dares to pull her over. Al flips the radio back on, unable to take the silence and unable to think of a way to break it. Nothing she can say will make this any better. She grasps onto Hannah’s hand tightly, which is met with equal force, because that’s all she can think to do.

“Shots fired reported in Houston,” one radio host says. “Houston’s one of the many cities that have started reporting unusual attacks that have been met with extreme force by the United States military. No word from any other nation, and so far, all the cities affected have been contained to the West Coast and Midwest. Dave, what do you think this could be?”

Then Dave chimes in with his opinion, which Mary disputes, and traffic finally starts to move a little so Al can breathe easier. They’re crawling, barely hitting ten miles an hour, but crawling is better than just sitting.

“Babe,” Hannah murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“What are we going to do?” she asks. She turns the radio down once more. “Once we’ve got Jesse and his family. What do we do? Where do we go?”

“As far away from Texas as we can get,” Al replies.

Hannah’s eyebrows pull together. “But – the story’s here.”

“That’s the problem,” Al mutters. “The story’s here, and so are you and Jesse and my sister-in-law and niece. So I need to get you all _away_ from the story before I worry about getting it, okay?”

Hannah brings the back of Al’s hand to her lips in response. Al sighs in frustration as traffic comes to a stop again.

“Besides,” Al adds, “seems like the story’s everywhere. Or it soon will be.”

“You don’t think –” Hannah cuts herself off, shaking her head.

“I don’t think what?”

“It’s a civil war,” Hannah whispers. “You don’t think it is, do you?”

Al inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “I don’t know what to think,” Al admits. “They could’ve been shooting at anyone. Citizens. Each other.”

“We’d know if we were being invaded, right?”

“Probably,” Al says. “I don’t think we’re being invaded.”

“Why?”

“These weird reports everyone keeps talking about,” Al says. “They don’t suggest an invasion. Not by another country.”

“So what do you think it is?” Hannah asks. “Are we turning against each other? Is it some mass panic?”

“Mass panic is a given,” Al says. “It’s just what’s causing it that I don’t know.” Al slams her hand against the steering wheel. “Why aren’t we _moving_? Jesus Christ!”

“Calm down,” Hannah says, squeezing Al’s hand once more. “Please.”

“Do we still have no service?” Al asks.

Hannah checks Al’s phone – one of those new smartphones that Al’s had for a little while at her boss’s insistence but still hardly knows how to work – and shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“We can’t keep sitting here,” Al says. “If the shooting comes this way –”

“It won’t.”

“If it does,” Al says, “we’re sitting ducks.”

“Going on foot would be even worse,” Hannah points out. “It’s probably just heavy traffic, darling.”

“Or something’s blocking our exit.”

Al can practically feel the fear rolling in waves off of her wife, so for that reason alone, Al decides she needs to be the one that isn’t afraid. The loaded Beretta in the console makes that goal a little easier to achieve. Al was raised in rural Texas. She knows how to handle and fire a gun. She could hit a target blindfolded with one hand tied behind her back. She’s outshot people before. If Al is confident in anything outside of her journalistic abilities, it’s her ability to protect herself and her wife – her family.

“Babe,” Hannah says, leaning forward and peering out the windshield. “What is _that_?”

Al cranes her neck in an attempt to see whatever Hannah’s talking about. “I have no idea,” Al says. “I can’t see.”

“Up there,” Hannah says. She points with one hand, grips onto Al’s with unprecedented strength with the other. “In the road.”

They aren’t going anywhere anyway, so Al throws the car in park and unbuckles her seatbelt. She practically has to haul her ass over the console into Hannah’s seat to get a look at what she’s talking about. It doesn’t help that whatever it is that’s happening is pretty far up ahead, but there’s definitely a commotion. Al can’t even begin to guess at what she’s staring at apart from a mass of people, and she looks to the backseat for her camera. Before she can lean back to grab it, Hannah screams.

Al slams her head against the roof of the car and falls back into the driver’s seat, legs going up toward the dashboard. Before she can ask what that was about, Hannah’s pointing up ahead and shouting, “I think there’s someone _eating_ someone else up there!”

“What?” Al exclaims. “Babe, that’s insane.”

Hannah yanks Al back over into her seat and points once more. Al squints up ahead, but whatever’s happening – if someone _is_ eating someone else or if it’s something more normal but still frightening – it’s causing the people in the cars ahead of them to abandon their vehicle and start running. Some risk taking their shit with them, others just go with the clothes on their backs.

“We need to go,” Hannah whispers. She unbuckles her seatbelt and twists around. She shoves the backpack with Al’s camera, tapes, and emergency rations into Al’s lap along with the rifle. The boxes of ammunition go next, and Al hurries to pack them into the backpack even though it’s already bursting with stuff. Hannah hands her the map of Texas to add to the backpack from the glovebox. Finally, Al takes the Beretta from the console and the keys from the ignition, and they leave the car parked on the streets of Houston.

“Stay close,” Al orders. She does a quick mental check. Wedding ring on her finger. Beretta at her hip, keys in her pocket, phone in Hannah’s pocket. Rifle over her shoulder, backpack on her back – weighing like a hundred fucking pounds. Al’s lucky she’s been staying in shape, but her back’s going to begin to ache before long. Al’s got Hannah’s hand in hers, and they weave through the cars then through the streets and run. The machine gun fire has died off, but there are irregular bursts of gunfire from all around them. There’s a fire burning somewhere in the distance, smoke rising. The camera’s packed in the backpack on Al’s back, but she doesn’t think about it once.

They round a corner and skid to a stop, not daring to release their hold on each other. Now Al has seen some nasty shit in the years since she’s graduated college. She’s been in literal warzones; she’s nearly been killed herself or threatened with death too many times for her to count. She’s been the one to hold others at gunpoint to preserve her own life. But this is something new. There is something that’s definitely a human body in the middle of the street with four people kneeling around it. All four people look up when Al and Hannah appear, all their faces bloodied, all clutching onto the innards of the body. At first, Al and Hannah are too shocked to react. At least until the four stagger to their feet, leaving the half eaten corpse behind to shamble after Al and Hannah.

Just as Al reaches for the Beretta at her hip, soldiers storm the street from the other end, screaming warnings and firing without regard for Al or Hannah. Al instinctively draws Hannah into her, protecting her head with her arms and twisting them so if they’re hit, it’ll be Al taking the bullet. She shields Hannah, but she makes sure she looks back. She watches in disbelief as the soldiers fire bullet after bullet into the cannibals’ chests, and while the cannibals stumble or fall, they keep getting back up. It isn’t until a bullet blows the brains of one of them onto the street that the body falls and doesn’t get back up.

“The brain,” Al mutters. “The brain.”

The soldiers clear the cannibals from the streets, and that’s when Al realizes they need to start moving again. She’s got an illegal rifle slung over her shoulder, and one of the soldiers stops to put a bullet in the head of the half eaten corpse, so clearly, something isn’t right. A lot of somethings clearly are _very_ not right, but Al shakes off the trance and pulls Hannah back in the direction they came.

It would help if they were more familiar with Houston. They round another corner, and a person similar to the cannibals they just encountered, with that weird shambling gait, all covered in someone else’s blood, targets them. It reaches out, snarling, and Al drags Hannah to a stop, releases her hand, and yanks the Beretta. Without a second thought, she aims it, squeezes the trigger, and sends a bullet into the person’s skull.

“Al!” Hannah shrieks, clutching at Al’s arm, forcing her to lower the Beretta even though there’s a body at their feet. “You just – you _shot_ him.”

“No,” Al says quietly. She flips the body over with her boot, staring down in disgust at it. There’s something wrong about its eyes, about its flesh. There’s something just _wrong_. Something inhuman. “These things aren’t people,” Al says.

“What?”

“You didn’t see,” Al says. She motions for Hannah to follow after her once more, and they break into a jog as Al explains. “You didn’t see the soldiers shooting them in the chest, Hannah. You didn’t see – they would fall and get back up. No one survives getting shot in the chest ten times. No one gets back up.”

“That’s crazy,” Hannah says. “That isn’t – are you sure you saw that right?”

“They put a bullet in the head of that corpse that was in the middle of the street,” Al points out. “Why, when it’s already dead?”

Hannah grabs a fistful of Al’s jacket, but they don’t stop running. “What if they’re all dead?” Hannah whispers.

“What?”

“How else do you survive ten bullets to the chest, Althea?” Hannah asks deliriously. She yanks on Al’s jacket and shouts, “You don’t! If you were shot in the chest right now, you would die! So why didn’t they? They’re already dead!”

“We’re jumping to conclusions,” Al says in an attempt to be rational, but Hannah’s having none of it.

“What the fuck is going on?” she asks. “People are _eating_ people in the streets and – and they’re surviving things no one can!”

“We need to calm down,” Al says, because frankly, Hannah getting worked up is just making Al’s own anxiety that much worse. “We’re almost at the city limits. Once we’re out of the city, I can hotwire a car and get us far away from here.”

Hannah stops running, forcing Al to stop, too. Hannah takes two fistfuls of Al’s jacket, tears in her eyes, and she hisses, “Where are we going to go to get away from this, Al? What if this is what’s spreading across the country? How do we escape this?”

Hannah’s eyes flick to the Beretta still clutched in Al’s hand, and Al’s eyes widen. “No,” she says. “That’s not an option. We’ll get out of here. We’ll get my brother and leave Texas and –”

“And then what?” Hannah whispers. Al jams the Beretta back in its holster and pries Hannah’s hands off the front of her jacket, holding them in her own. Their eyes lock.

“And then we’ll take it one step at a time,” Al says. “I’ll protect us. Okay?”

Hannah nods. “Okay.”

“We need to reach Jesse’s first.”

Al breathes a little easier when they finally get out of the city, but after they examine the map, they realize this trip’s going to take forever, even if Al finds a car to hotwire. The freeways are sure to be backed up, and the backroads take them winding through the state. The only straight shot to Jesse’s is by freeway, and Hannah and Al quickly agree that’s not a viable option. Once they put enough distance between Houston and themselves, they take a break in a small diner full of unsuspecting people, borrow a marker, and draw out their route from the diner to Jesse’s.

A waitress sets two mugs of coffee down on the table, even though they didn’t order anything.

“Hey,” Al calls after the waitress. “I can’t – I don’t have any money on me. I can’t pay for these.”

The waitress just smiles sadly. “You look like you’ve got a lot going on,” she says. “They’re on me.”

Hannah reaches across the booth, grasping at Al’s hand. Their eyes meet, and Hannah’s shine with tears once more. “How do we just leave knowing what happened in Houston?” she whispers. “They’re all talking about it. It’s on their radio, and no one knows the truth.”

Al’s expression darkens. “No one would believe us,” she says. “Not without footage.”

“And you didn’t get any.”

“I was busy trying to keep us alive,” Al defends.

Hannah shushes her gently, turning Al’s hand over in hers and stroking her thumb over her palm. “I know,” Hannah says. “I wasn’t passing judgment.” Her eyes flick around the diner, from a family eating in the back to an older man sitting at the counter eating a quiet meal alone to the waitress who took pity on them and gave them free coffee. “But if we say nothing, all these people could die,” Hannah says. “That’s all.”

“They might call the police on us,” Al points out. “If we tell them people are eating each other and not dying from bullets to the chest in Houston, they might call the police, and they’ll throw us in jail for illegal possession of a firearm, and we’ll be totally fucked and so will Jesse.”

Hannah purses her lips. “You’re right.”

Al sighs softly. “I know I am.”

They drink their coffee in silence for a while then reevaluate their route. Once they’re sure it’s their best shot – and once the coffee is gone – they take off in search of a car. Luckily, Al doesn’t even have to hotwire one. She just steals a pickup off the lot of a Chevy dealership, because the keys are in the fucking car for some reason, but she isn’t about to complain. Hannah wants to, but she must realize they’re out of other options, so grand theft auto in the middle of the night isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Watching Al shoot that guy dead without hesitation might’ve been, but Hannah tells herself that after what they’d seen those other cannibals do, it’s for the best.

Al drives until she can barely keep her eyes open, and they switch off. What should be a four hour drive from Houston to the Dallas suburbs is looking like it’ll be more likely six or seven hours, and exhaustion hits both Al and Hannah hard. They’re forced to pull off at a rest stop about two hours away so they don’t run themselves off the road. Al makes them sleep in watches, even though the rest area is empty apart from the occasional traveler that comes and goes. While Hannah sleeps with her head in Al’s lap, Al sits behind the wheel with the Beretta in hand. She can’t shake the images from Houston, so maybe it doesn’t matter that she didn’t record anything. It’s burned into her brain forever.

Al manages to keep her cool until they roll into Jesse’s neighborhood. Hannah’s been panicking enough for the both of them, and Al only cracks when she sees the state of Jesse’s street. Overturned cars, one of which took out a fire hydrant. One’s flipped upside down on someone’s lawn, and there are definitely bodies inside. One of the houses at the end of the street was set ablaze, but the fire’s waning. By the time they pull up to Jesse’s house, Al hopes they made a run for it. Al whips into the empty driveway. Jesse’s house, compared to the rest of the block, is eerily quiet. So maybe they did make a run for it after all. But Al needs to know.

She hands the Beretta to Hannah, even though Hannah’s never once used a gun outside of a shooting range, and Al kisses her quickly before grabbing the rifle and exiting the truck. Hannah holds the Beretta like it’s going to bite her, but Al can’t fathom not arming her when it’s possible. Al pauses on the porch, lifting the doormat just in case Jesse is dumb enough to leave a key under it. Unfortunately, he’s not, and Al raps the butt of the rifle against the door.

“Jesse?” she calls, knocking once more with a little more force. Her eyes flick back to the street in case anything’s coming their way, but it’s oddly clear.

“So we’re breaking and entering now?” Hannah questions.

“I blew someone’s brains out and committed grand theft auto yesterday,” Al says wryly. “What’s a little breaking and entering as the cherry on top? Besides, I bet Jesse will forgive me.”

Al takes a step back and kicks the door in with almost no difficulty. She steps in first, eyes scanning the living room then turning toward the kitchen to the left. The staircase is straight ahead. Al was here with Hannah not that long ago for her niece’s baptism. Well, not that long ago is really more like eight months ago, which might as well be eight years in Al’s sense of time.

“Do you think they left?” Hannah whispers.

“They’d have to know I’d come for them,” Al says. “So if they did, I bet they’d leave a note somewhere obvious.”

“The kitchen,” Hannah guesses.

“Be careful,” Al calls. Her eyes skim over the living room but find nothing out of place. She wanders farther in, toward the back of the house where the dining room is. Just as she pokes her head through the doorway, Hannah yells.

“Al!”

Al hits her head against the doorframe in her attempt to spin around and rush to the kitchen. She grits her teeth and rounds the corner, rifle raised, but she quickly lowers it when she sees why Hannah yelled for her. Facedown on the kitchen floor is Jesse’s wife. Unmoving. Her hair shrouds her face, making it impossible to tell what’s going on. Hannah keeps a respectable distance, leaving Al to carefully approach her.

“Eva,” Al hisses. Her mind flashes back to Houston, to the cannibals, to their unrelenting nature, and she’s afraid to reach down. She nudges Eva’s arm with the toe of her boot, gently, but gets no response.

“Al,” Hannah whispers. “Is she –?”

“I don’t know,” Al murmurs. Her heart beats in her throat, blood rushing in her ears, and she slowly rolls Eva over with her foot. Al immediately jumps back although Eva doesn’t move. On the wood where her body had been is a small pool of blood, and the hilt of a paring knife sticks out of her left eye socket. A million emotions hit Al at once, and she falls back against the island counter, barely catching herself and keeping ahold of the rifle. “Don’t look,” she manages to choke out, but it’s much too late for that. Hannah clutches at Al’s jacket, sobs into her shoulder, and after a few moments, Al tears herself away so she can go yank the table cloth off the dining room table and bring it back to drape over Eva’s body. Before Al covers her, she notices blood soaked through Eva’s pant leg but assumes she must’ve been cut on something before her death.

“Oh my God,” Hannah says, tears still streaming down her face. “You don’t think Jesse did this, do you?”

“He couldn’t,” Al says immediately. “And he wouldn’t.”

“Al, you shot a guy yesterday,” Hannah whimpers.

“To protect us!”

Al whirls around, and for a moment, they just stare at each other. Hannah takes a deep breath and asks, “And what if he did this to protect himself and Rosie?”

Al’s eyes widen. “We need to find them. Now.”

Hannah nods and wipes the tears from her face. She picks the Beretta up off the counter and holds it with a newfound sense of purpose. Al starts with the basement. Seems like a logical place to wait out this sort of thing. The basement is empty, and even though the thoughts creep up in the back of her mind, Al refuses to entertain them. Jesse and Rosie are here. They’re alive. They have to be.

“Upstairs,” Al grunts. She sprints up the basement staircase, two at a time, and heads for the second set. She stops only to wait for Hannah to catch up. They reach the top, and Al’s faced with four closed doors. Guest bedroom at the far left end, then bathroom, Rosie’s room, and the master bedroom on Al’s right. Al breathes heavily as Hannah stands at her side, grasping onto Al’s shoulder. And Al loses her grip on her calm, composed demeanor.

“ _JESSE_!” she screams. Hannah flinches, holds onto Al tighter, but she has no choice but to follow when Al starts at the guest bedroom and kicks the door in. It’s really not necessary; she could very easily turn the knob instead. She keeps both hands on the rifle and sweeps the room. She expected this one to be empty, and it is. Just like the bathroom. Al hesitates in front of Rosie’s room, and Hannah seizes the opportunity to shove herself between the door and Al’s body.

“Hey,” Hannah says softly. She places the Beretta in her waistband at her side – only after triple checking that the safety is on – and takes Al’s face in both her hands. “Stop,” Hannah says firmly. “We need to keep it together. They might’ve left, and if that’s the case, then we will go find them, okay?”

Al breathes deeply, closes her eyes, and nods. “Okay.”

“Now open the door like a normal person, darling.”

“Nothing about this is normal.”

“I know,” Hannah says, letting her hands slip from Al’s face to her neck. “But if we keep acting like this, we’re going to get ourselves killed.”

“When did you become the rational one?”

“Like right now,” Hannah says. She almost steps aside but stops herself, grabbing Al by the jacket once more. “Whatever we find behind these doors, whether they’re empty or – or something else…we’ll find a way to be okay with it. Eventually. Right?”

Al exhales shakily. “Right.”

Hannah smiles, but concern flashes in her eyes. “Okay, sweetheart. Open it. I’ll be right behind you.”

Al grasps the door knob, braces herself, and flings the door open. She almost immediately hits the ground on her knees, rifle falling beside her, and she catches herself on her hands, head bent down. She can’t bring herself to look beyond the first three seconds. The door quickly shuts behind them, and Al distantly feels Hannah’s hands on her, pulling her at least back to her knees. Hannah’s arms immediately encircle her, press Al’s head against her stomach, and time ceases to exist.

The almost one year old child reaches through the bars of the crib, swiping at the air, growling softly. Al forces herself to pull it together quickly. She can’t cry herself into total exhaustion if she wants to be able to function the rest of the day. And she doesn’t really have a choice. So she stops, and she pushes herself to her feet, taking the rifle with her. But she holds it at her side.

“What do we do?” Hannah finally squeaks. She turns her terrified eyes up to Al’s face, and Al swallows hard, squeezing her eyes shut at the sound of the faint growls.

“I can’t,” Al breathes. “I can’t do it.”

Hannah’s arms wrap around Al’s waist, and she presses her forehead against Al’s shoulder. “I can’t, either,” Hannah murmurs.

“We can’t just leave.”

“We can’t stay here.”

Al exhales shakily. “I need to know if he’s here.”

Al can’t help but think if she’d just listened to Hannah and left Houston three days earlier – if she’d just fucking _listened_ and left instead of staying and trying to get the story, a story that didn’t even fucking make any sense (until now) – then maybe they all would’ve been okay.

Al pushes away from Hannah, raises the rifle, then exhales and lowers it, shaking her head. She presses her lips together, willing herself not to start crying again, but she can’t do it. She can’t even bring herself to aim to take the shot, let alone actually pull the trigger. But she also can’t just turn and leave the room; she can’t just shut the child that used to be her niece in here, trap her for the rest of her existence. So Al has a decision to make.

“What do I do?” Al asks.

“What?”

“Tell me what to do,” Al pleads.

“I – I can’t make that decision for you,” Hannah says quietly. Her eyes glance toward the crib, but she flinches and quickly averts her gaze. “I can’t tell you how to handle this.”

Al inhales sharply. “Are you going to hate me forever if I –” Her voice breaks, but she forces herself to finish, “If I pull the trigger.”

“I could never hate you, darling.” Hannah sighs. “We have hard choices to make. I’m sure you’ll make the right one.”

Al breathes evenly, eyes closed, until her body stops shaking. When the shaking subsides, she inhales, aims, and fires without hesitation. The moment she’s sure the shot hits, she squeezes her eyes shut and turns her back to the room. The violent trembling starts back up, and Hannah guides her out of the room, pulling the door shut behind them.

They have one more door. But Al can’t keep herself upright, dropping down to the carpet and sitting with her back against the wall, head in her hands. She waves off Hannah’s attempts to comfort her, because she needs to figure out how to live with this for herself. But there are no more tears left to be cried. Al’s body stiffens once she’s gotten this effectively buried, so deep no one’s ever going to touch it again, including herself. So Al gets up. And she grabs the rifle. And she opens the door to the master bedroom.

The room’s empty, but there’s a steady thudding on the closet door. “Stay back,” Al orders. “I’ll handle it.”

“Al, wait,” Hannah says, grabbing her by the bicep. “Are you sure you can –”

“I’ve got it,” Al assures her. She nods, mostly to herself, and clenches her jaw. She knows exactly what she’s going to find behind that door. She may not entirely know what’s going on or how it works, but she knows what’s waiting for her. At the sounds of their voices, though, the thudding kicks up a notch. Al hesitates, reaching for the door. She keeps herself positioned behind it, makes sure Hannah’s near the exit, and Al pulls the closet open.

The thing that used to be Jesse rushes out, snarling and thrashing his head, and Al aims and takes the shot.

Except she misses. The bullet blows through Jesse’s neck instead of his head, distorting the sounds of the growls but presenting Jesse with an opportunity to get Al. The shock of the unexpected miss coupled with the fact that Jesse is now _right there_ allows him to unknowingly knock Al’s rifle aside and go for her. Al hits the ground on her back, jamming her arm between her and Jesse, getting it against his bloodied neck. She bares her teeth, grunting from the exertion of trying to hold a 6’4” former basketball player off of her. All she knows is her brother’s not going to take a chunk of her flesh out of her. That’s not an experience she’s itching to have.

Hannah screams, but Al barely hears it, too busy trying to prevent her muscles from giving out under two hundred pounds of dead weight. She strains to get away from him or to get some sort of leverage and flip him off, and everything else happens fast. Hannah rushes forward, launching herself over the bed and around so she’s by Al’s feet instead of her head, and Hannah seizes two fistfuls of the back of Jesse’s shirt and yanks him off.

Yanks him off right toward her. As Al scrambles to get the rifle and get to her feet, Jesse’s teeth sink into Hannah’s forearm, eliciting the absolute worst sound Al has ever heard from Hannah ever. Hannah kicks him back by the forehead, howling and clutching at her arm, and Al doesn’t even think. Point blank, she blows Jesse’s brains against the wall and turns her full attention to Hannah. There’s no time to grieve anymore.

“How bad is it?” Al asks. She reaches for Hannah’s arm, but Hannah’s got the wound covered with her other hand, hissing in pain. “Okay, come on,” Al commands. They step over Jesse, and Al leads them to the bathroom, turning the tap on and getting the wound under the water. Hannah cries out in pain but attempts to muffle the sounds against Al’s shoulder as Al washes the gaping wound out thoroughly. She presses a hand towel against it and has Hannah apply pressure as she digs through the cabinets for a first aid kit or any kind of medical supplies.

Al resists the urge to punch a hole through the wall when she comes up empty and rushes back into the master bedroom to search Jesse’s bathroom instead. This time, she finds antiseptic and a role of bandages and returns to Hannah. She splashes a healthy amount of antiseptic over the bite wound and swiftly winds the bandage tightly around Hannah’s arm. Only once Al has washed the blood off her hands do they dare to speak.

“Are you okay?” Al finally asks.

Hannah scoffs. “Sweetheart, part of my arm is missing because of your brother. I am _not_ okay. And neither are you.”

Al nods. “Okay. Good to know we’re on the same page.”

“We need to leave,” Hannah breathes.

Al hesitates. “I can’t,” she admits. “Not – not yet. There’s something – I just, I need to take care of things here first.”

Hannah nods. “Okay. I understand. I don’t know how much help I’ll be to you now that…” She looks down at her arm, at the blood already beginning to soak through the bandaging. Al notices, too, and hands the towel back, quietly tells Hannah to keep applying pressure until it stops.

They go back downstairs, and Al heads into the garage. She plucks a shovel off the wall and carries it out back. Hannah sits on the patio furniture, holding the towel to the wound and wincing, and Al spends most of the rest of the afternoon digging three graves and crying on and off. She’s covered in dirt and sweat by the time she’s finished, and she can barely keep herself upright, but she goes back inside and finds the closet where all the sheets are kept. She wraps all three bodies in sheets, and in Jesse and Rosie’s cases, hauls bodies down a flight of stairs. She pulls the paring knife from Eva’s eye, and Al just feels numb. She gets all three out back, lined up alongside their respective graves, and she stops.

“God,” Al breathes. “I fucking hate funerals.”

Hannah stands shakily from the chair she hasn’t left since she first sat down and makes her way over. Al’s eyebrows pull together, and she presses the back of her hand against Hannah’s forehead.

“You’re a little warm,” Al murmurs. “Sweating. You feeling okay?”

“Honestly?” Hannah says. “No.”

“You should lie down.”

“Al.”

“Hmm?”

Al startles at the sudden tears in Hannah’s eyes, but she speaks clearly. “I think I know how this,” she motions toward the three bodies that belong to Al’s family, “spreads.”

“What do you mean?”

Hannah gestures toward her arm then pulls the towel away to reveal that, in at least three hours, the bleeding hasn’t stopped. “I mean,” Hannah says, “I think this kills us, and then we get back up.”

“That’s insane,” Al blurts. “That isn’t how – that’s not how shit works!”

“Al,” Hannah says gently, cupping her cheek in her good hand. “The way shit works has changed.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Hannah says, “don’t wear yourself out digging a fourth grave, darling.”

“No,” Al says. “You aren’t – this isn’t – you aren’t _dying_. You’re going to be fine.”

“Hon, I feel like absolute shit,” Hannah says. She brushes her fingers through Al’s hair, and her eyes don’t leave Al’s face, even as it contorts in pain. “And I have a strong immune system. I don’t want to be right about this, but I know I am. And I can’t let myself be a threat to you once I’m gone.”

“I – _no_ ,” is all Al can manage to get out before she breaks down in tears once more. She falls to her knees in front of the three graves, and Hannah follows her down and just holds her until she cries herself out.

Hannah strokes her hand through Al’s hair, over and over, and murmurs, “You need to be alright for me, okay? You need to keep living. Make sure our lives mattered, okay? Make sure the stories live.”

Al nods, but she’s beyond saying anything. The sun’s going to set soon. Hannah’s deteriorating quickly, and if Hannah is right, she’ll be gone before morning. Hannah presses her lips to Al’s forehead, but Al refuses to accept that as it. Al kisses Hannah until she physically cannot breathe and only then pulls back. Hannah then gently takes Al’s hand and sets something in her palm, curling Al’s fingers over it.

“Keep that for me,” Hannah requests.

Al opens her hand. It’s Hannah’s wedding ring. It isn’t going to fit on Al’s finger, so she zips it safely inside the inner pocket of her jacket until she finds a better solution.

“I love you,” Al whispers.

Hannah smiles in spite of the tears shining in her eyes. “I love you, too.” Hannah exhales shakily then pulls the Beretta from her waistband, pushing that into Al’s hand as well. “You did your best,” Hannah says. “And life is still worth living, okay? There are other people out there, and they’re going to need you. The future’s going to need you. If you can’t stay alive for yourself, then at least stay alive for that. Promise?”

Al shakes her head, but she forces herself to say, “I promise.”

Hannah nods. “Good.” She motions to the Beretta in Al’s hand, and Al’s fingers close around the grip. “Don’t blame this on yourself,” Hannah adds.

“It’s too late for that.”

“Then forgive yourself, darling,” Hannah amends. She touches her fingertips to Al’s jaw and smiles. “I’ll see you again,” Hannah says. “In another life. When it’s all over.”

A gunshot rings out.

Al digs a fourth grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Hannah is very shamelessly based upon Hannah John-Kamen from Killjoys and/or Ant-Man and the Wasp because I'm in love with her. Also there's a bit of alternate history thrown in there (I AM a history major, after all), and since the dead are eventually going to walk, why can't there be rioting occurring in England a couple years before? And I know 5x05 hinted at what happened with Al's brother, but for this story, I'm choosing to ignore it. Finally, in my mind, the middle aged blonde woman at the bar is 100% Madison Clark and you can pry that from my cold dead hands lol.
> 
> Also there are two chapters left, and since the tags on this fic pretty much spoil it, one will be Alicia and one will be Isabelle, so stay tuned.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	5. Twenty-Nine Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be one chapter, but it's getting long, so I decided to split it into two. Hope you enjoy it!

The woman in the middle of the road presses a sharpened piece of metal – a broken off gun barrel? – against Al’s throat, hard enough to draw a thin sliver of blood. The woman holds onto a fistful of Al’s jacket at her shoulder, and Al lowers her rifle to the road. Their eyes lock momentarily, and the first thought that runs through Al’s head is _that woman has eyes just like Hannah’s_. Al swallows hard and pushes forward slightly, drawing a few more beads of blood that roll down her neck into her shirt. She barely notices, unable to tear her eyes away from this woman’s. Surprise flickers in the woman’s eyes, and she backs off with the barrel ever so slightly.

“So,” Al manages to say, “what the hell’s your story?”

Al expects the blow to the head from the butt of the gun barrel that she’s earned herself. She also expects to be knocked instantly unconscious, but she hangs on by a thread as the woman eases her fall to the pavement by not releasing Al’s jacket. Al vaguely hears John and Morgan arguing with the woman’s companions, but the words sound garbled to her brain, like they’re suddenly speaking in a language Al doesn’t know. Al urges herself to lose consciousness, to just be done with it already. It wouldn’t be the first time since the world ended that Al put a story above her own life.

Al can’t shake off the feeling of looking into that woman’s eyes. Like she was staring directly into the past. It’s not even like their eyes are the same. The shade of green was slightly off, but it still caught Al off guard. She guesses she hasn’t come across a green-eyed person since Hannah died. Or maybe she just never bothered to notice.

Al snaps back into awareness when she feels hands on her. Her eyes pop open, but her head feels too heavy to lift, and her brain won’t tell her arms to move. She can only watch dazedly as the green-eyed woman pats her down, starting at her ankles and swiftly moving her way up, searching for any hidden weapons. Green Eyes, as Al nicknames her, pulls the knife sheathed at Al’s belt and chucks it toward Al’s rifle. Her hands slide up, patting against the exterior pockets of Al’s jacket then finding the interior since it’s concealing one of her trench spikes. Green Eyes’ hands go further up, over Al’s breast, and Al finds her voice.

“We’re moving a little fast, don’t you think?” Al quips hoarsely. “I mean, I don’t even know your name.” That earns her a fist to the gut, and Al grunts at the impact, followed by a drawn out groan. “This is really unnecessary,” Al manages to choke out as her eyes water from the pain. “We can talk –”

“No,” Green Eyes cuts in. “No talking.”

Green Eyes unzips Al’s jacket and pulls both trench spikes from the inside, tossing them with Al’s other weapons.

“I feel violated,” Al cracks. She can’t help herself. Her first comment clearly got under Green Eyes’ skin.

“Al,” John warns.

“Quiet!” one of the two men – the one that looks an awful lot like Green Eyes – accompanying Green Eyes barks, jabbing his rifle toward John. John goes silent, continuing to hold his hands up in surrender. Green Eyes looks away briefly, hands braced against the front of Al’s shoulders, but her eyes return quickly, locking square onto Al’s neck. Only then does Al realize the chain she wears there is hanging free. And Green Eyes is staring at it.

“If you even _think_ about touching that,” Al hisses, “I will personally rip your throat out with my teeth!”

Green Eyes has the audacity to crack a smile. Like it’s a joke. “I don’t care about the rings,” Green Eyes says softly. “I just want the keys.”

“You can have them when I’m dead,” Al snaps.

“That can be arranged,” Green Eyes says. Thanks to the blow she took to the head, Al knows she won’t be strong enough to fight off Green Eyes. Not right now. So Al does the only thing she can think of. She spits straight into Green Eyes’ face and takes immense satisfaction when Green Eyes startles and backs off, swiping Al’s spit away with her sleeve and cursing.

“Alicia!” the second man – the black man with the ear piercing – calls out. “Are you good?”

“Bitch spit at me,” Green Eyes – Alicia – says in disbelief.

“Let’s all just try to calm down here –” John says, but he’s cut off by the guy holding him at gunpoint.

“Shut up!”

“Maybe we can help,” Morgan offers. “That’s all my friend’s trying to say.”

_Help?_ Al can’t believe what she’s hearing. She isn’t going to help these hijackers. Alicia’s made it pretty clear she’s aiming to take Al’s van, and Al will die before she lets that happen. _Help these people_ her ass. She’s starting to regret picking up John and Morgan in the first place.

Alicia and her group round Al, John, and Morgan up and zip tie their hands behind their backs. Alicia makes sure to pull Al’s extra tight, but Al figures that’s what she gets for spitting on her. Worth it. Turns out Alicia’s concerned with this weird flag they’d found, and slowly but surely, Al starts to piece this group’s story together.

Alicia’s the de facto leader despite appearing to be the youngest of the group. Nick’s her older brother, but he acts more like the younger sibling. Nick is definitely romantically tied to Luciana, Al figures out quickly. Victor’s loyalty definitely lies somewhere between Alicia and Nick. But most of all, they’re all desperate. And Al can make that work.

At least that’s what she thinks until she’s bent backwards out of the driver’s side of her van, Alicia’s hand simultaneously closing off her airway and forcing her down toward the dead. And Al thinks this is how it’s going to end. She doesn’t have a great view of the charred dead coming for her because, one, she’s upside down, and two, she’s more concerned with getting Alicia off her and getting herself up so she isn’t just one more person to die in this epidemic. One more story stomped out before it should end. But she does see one of the dead get particularly close to sinking its teeth into her head, and that gives her the spurt of energy that breaks Alicia’s grasp on her arm and sends her fist square into Alicia’s chest.

So here’s how things are at this point: this Alicia bitch is really grating on Al’s nerves, especially now that she’s tried to kill her _again_. And almost succeeded. Alicia probably weighs a hundred pounds, but she managed to get Al in the most vulnerable spot she’s been in since – well, it really hasn’t been that long. Since all of Al’s family was claimed in the beginning of the Houston/Dallas outbreak, Al hasn’t exactly been too concerned about her own personal safety. Al just wants to get the fucking story and get on with her life, but the other living people that inhabit this planet keep fucking up her plans.

And John keeps trying to fucking die. These people are _so annoying_. Every other time, Al just collects the story and goes on her way, but now these people are trying to rope her into their petty squabbles – and it’s working. Alicia watches the tape labeled _Amina_ while Al tries to stop John from bleeding out from a gunshot wound courtesy of Alicia. And Al finds herself worrying about Morgan and June in the stadium.

“Stay with me,” Al tells John, covering the wad of gauze over the gunshot wound with John’s hands and pushing down. “Keep pressure on that.”

“It’s okay,” John breathes. “It’s okay if I don’t make it.”

“June will have my head if that happens,” Al replies. “So it’s not okay. Stay here for her.” Al hesitates, but she decides to say the next part anyway, even though she has Alicia and Charlie as an audience. “I know how upset I’d be if someone I cared that much about just gave up.”

John manages a nod. The _Amina_ tape ends, and Al makes sure John keeps applying pressure before she turns her attention back to Alicia. The fierce determination from earlier – when Alicia was trying to kill Al – is replaced with tears and raw pain as Alicia clutches onto the camera, trembling. Al’s lips part, but she can’t think of anything to say. The tape, though, the story – it changes Alicia. The next thing Al knows, she’s driving the entire group, Alicia in the passenger’s seat, and Alicia offers up her mom’s story.

After Al gets it on film, she figures she’s done here. She can walk away from John and June, Morgan, Alicia, Victor, and Luciana. She can go. But something about the way Alicia splits off from the rest of the group when the story’s finished stops Al in her tracks. Alicia doesn’t go far – far enough away to be out of earshot, sure, but not so far that they can’t easily see her.

Al stores the camera in the van, accidentally interrupting a moment between John and June, then goes to join Alicia. She approaches slowly, but she thinks Alicia’s only armed with the gun barrel. It wouldn’t be so bad if Alicia shot her, though. There are plenty of worse ways to die, Al has learned. Al makes enough noise to alert Alicia to her presence well in advance of her actual arrival at Alicia’s side. Awkwardly, Al clears her throat and jams her hands into her pockets.

“Hey,” Al says.

Alicia exhales softly. “Hey.”

Al forgets why she came over here in the first place. She should be kicking John and June out of her van so she can leave. Or she should be planning to drop everyone somewhere in the morning so she can take off. She’s been thinking about finally, after nearly two years, leaving Texas once and for all. But something’s been keeping her here since her family’s death. Some kind of feeling of obligation.

“Why are you here?” Alicia finally asks.

“I don’t know,” Al admits with a shrug. “You walked away from everyone else.”

“So?”

“So I came to see if you’re alright.”

“You did?” Alicia snorts. “That’s something Morgan or Luciana would do.”

“I’m a chick with layers, Alicia,” Al says wryly.

“Yeah, obviously,” Alicia agrees quietly. She motions toward her own neck and says, “You’ve got something going on with that chain around your neck.”

Al’s expression darkens. “We’re not going to talk about that.”

“Okay,” Alicia says simply. She glances over her shoulder, back toward the group, and adds, “I should go back.”

“You know,” Al hears herself say the moment after Alicia takes one step back, “your eyes remind me of someone I used to know.”

“I’m sorry?” Alicia says, turning to meet Al’s gaze.

“Did you not hear me or did you not understand?” Al asks softly, cracking a small smile.

“I didn’t understand,” Alicia says.

“You weren’t meant to,” Al answers. Her small smile grows into a wide one. “I just thought I’d let you know. I noticed when I spit in your face, remember?”

A smile flickers on Alicia’s face, which she tries to hide under a layer of irritation. “Yeah, I remember. That was gross.”

“It was a privilege to be covered in my spit,” Al jokes.

Alicia busts out laughing. “Even grosser.”

“Yeah, that didn’t sound right, did it?” Al chuckles. “But hey, it got you to laugh.”

Alicia tips her head forward in acknowledgement. “It was someone special, wasn’t it?” Alicia guesses.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Alicia stares curiously into Al’s eyes. “You wouldn’t have said anything if it didn’t matter.” Al doesn’t respond. She definitely doesn’t respond when Alicia abruptly says, “You were married, weren’t you? That’s what the rings are all about, right?”

Al presses her lips together and pulls her hands free of her pockets. “Seems like you’re alright,” Al says, forcing a thin-lipped smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“What happened to him?” Alicia calls as Al starts to walk away. Al’s body stiffens, and she swivels on her heels so she faces Alicia again. “I told you what happened to my mom,” Alicia points out. “Maybe you should…take a leap of faith.”

Al rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to talk about my past with a woman that almost fed me to the dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Alicia says, and Al doesn’t doubt the sincerity behind the statement. “I took my feelings out on you and nearly cost you your life. So I’m sorry.”

Al nods. “Apology accepted.”

“So what happened to him?” Alicia presses. Her confidence wavers slightly under Al’s piercing gaze, but Alicia waits for an answer nonetheless.

“Nice try,” Al says.

“C’mon,” Alicia prods gently. “Give me something to work with.”

Al cracks a smile and crosses back over so she’s standing directly in front of Alicia, forcing Alicia to look up at her. There’s maybe three inches of space between their bodies. A lock of Al’s hair falls into her eye, but she doesn’t bother to move it. She watches the way Alicia’s muscles tense when Al doesn’t back out of her personal space, watches Alicia resist the urge to take the step backward herself.

“My name is Al,” Al murmurs. “I’m from Texas. And everything else about me is none of your damn business.” Al winks then spins and takes three steps before she looks back. “Oh, actually, one more thing: it’s not a _him_ ,” Al adds. She returns to the van, leaving Alicia stunned, and bangs on the back door to give John and June a heads up and a moment to separate. The entire group camps in the van for the night, even though there isn’t really enough space for that. Al, at least, sleeps in the driver’s seat alone, with Alicia in the seat across from her.

Except Al doesn’t really sleep. She’s too on edge with all the people she’s surrounded by. And Alicia doesn’t sleep, either. Doesn’t even try, which puts Al even more on edge than she already was.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Al finally asks.

“Why aren’t _you_?” Alicia retorts.

“I asked first.”

“Can’t,” Alicia grunts.

“Same here.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” Alicia blurts.

“I’m sorry?” Al laughs. She pulls her legs down from the dashboard and twists so she’s facing Alicia. Al raises her eyebrows and waits.

“Yeah,” Alicia asserts. “You ask everyone else for their story but refuse to hand out any little bit of yours? Hypocrite.”

Al rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She puts her boots back up on the dash and slumps down.

“So what happened to _her_?” Alicia asks.

Al laughs again, but mirthlessly, and stares straight out the windshield into the darkness. “You’re making a lot of assumptions, Alicia.”

“You’re wearing two obvious wedding bands around your neck, and I’m assuming one is yours, so the other must belong to someone else, right?” Alicia pauses. “Must’ve belonged,” she corrects.

“You’re thinking way too much.”

“I’m curious.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Look, I’m just trying to –”

“Trying to what?” Al interrupts. She looks back over at Alicia. “Hmm? You’re trying to make some sort of connection with me now that you feel bad about trying to kill me? It’s cool – we’re cool. We don’t have to talk.”

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Alicia says smoothly, completely ignoring every word out of Al’s mouth. “That’s why you’ve got two wedding bands around your neck with the keys to your van. She’s dead, and you shut the rest of the world out.”

“I’d stop talking about things you know nothing about, if I were you,” Al snaps.

“Everyone I love is dead, too,” Alicia says quietly.

Al stares in disbelief over at Alicia. “When did I ever say anything that implied everyone I love is dead?”

“You didn’t have to,” Alicia says. “You’re out in an armored van alone, chasing other people for their stories. If the people you loved were alive, they’d be here.”

“You have Victor and Luciana,” Al points out. “Everyone you love isn’t dead.”

“Now who’s the one making assumptions?” Alicia teases gently.

“Still you,” Al replies.

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about your dead loved ones,” Alicia says.

“Then why are you still trying?”

“You were there,” Alicia says in a voice that’s barely audible over the sound of John’s snoring. “When my brother died. You were there.”

“So were John and Morgan.”

“John and Morgan don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

“No,” Alicia says softly. “You knew my mom. You understand.”

“I met her once,” Al says. “I don’t know if that really counts as knowing her.”

“She talked to you.”

“A lot of people talk to me.”

“Yeah,” Alicia grunts. She shifts around in the passenger’s seat. “They tell you what you want to know, and then you send them on their way.”

“Exactly,” Al says. “And that’s what’s going to happen when the sun rises.”

“And what if I refuse to go?”

“I’ll make you.”

Alicia cracks a weary smile. “Is that a challenge?”

“No.”

“What if I want to stay?”

Al snorts. “You don’t, so why bother arguing over hypotheticals?”

“Because it’s three in the morning and we’ve got nothing better to do?”

Al fidgets with the chain around her neck. “You tried to kill me.”

“And I apologized, and now we can move on,” Alicia says.

“If we had a rematch, I would win. Just saying.”

Alicia stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Okay. Sure.” She pauses. “You could’ve just shot me. When we had to tow the van. You could’ve shot me and Victor and been on your way.”

“What fun would that be? If I shot you, I couldn’t get your story. Then I wouldn’t know what happened to Madison.”

Alicia flinches. “Is that the only reason you didn’t shoot us?”

Al mulls that over for a moment. “No,” she says. “I try not to unnecessarily kill people.”

“I tried to kill you.”

“You apologized,” Al says wryly. “So now we’re supposed to move on from it.”

“I’m just saying,” Alicia says, “you could’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble if you’d killed us earlier.”

“Maybe.”

Al repositions herself again, boots up on the dash, lounging back with her hands clasped behind her head, and she tries to fool herself into believing she’s going to be able to get some sleep now that their conversation has died off. She even closes her eyes. She actually almost drifts off into an uneasy slumber, but Alicia’s voice causes Al to snap back into reality with a jolt.

“So my eyes really remind you of someone else?”

Al exhales heavily as her heart pounds from the mild startle. “Yeah,” she says, rubbing at her eyes. “Jesus, I was almost asleep there.”

“Sorry,” Alicia mumbles. “I was just thinking – I don’t know. That’s kind of odd.”

“It’s not like they’re exactly the same.”

“Okay, but it’s also odd that you actually told me something like that.”

“You seemed upset,” Al says carefully.

“I almost killed you and you didn’t even do anything to deserve it. I found out you knew – met – my mom and have a tape of her. I didn’t kill the girl that murdered my brother even though that’s all I’ve wanted to do since he died. My point is, it’s been a long day. I think I’m allowed to be upset.”

“Yeah,” Al says. “I’m sorry for intruding on your moment earlier.”

A smile flickers on Alicia’s face. “It’s nice to know someone cares. Even if that same someone’s going to dump us all off on the side of the road in the morning.”

“I’m not just going to drop you on the side of the road,” Al scoffs. “If I was going to do that, I would’ve already done it.”

“So you collect people’s stories but you don’t want people around?” Alicia blurts. “Can you explain that to me, because it doesn’t really make sense?”

“Why does it have to make sense?”

“Can you just answer the question?” Alicia growls.

“I’m sure, after everyone you’ve lost, you know the answer to that question.”

“Why even live?” Alicia asks. “If you’re just going to be alone the whole time.”

“I’m fulfilling a promise,” Al snaps.

“Did that promise include not letting yourself get attached to other people?” Alicia questions.

“You know what, Alicia? I deal with a lot of _shit_ , okay? Most of the time, I find out the people I interviewed are dead, and that is bad enough without having to worry about a group of my own. So when the sun rises, you’re all going to leave, and nothing you say is going to change that, got it?”

Alicia clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Nothing?” Alicia questions.

“ _Nothing_.”

Alicia inhales deeply. She throws a glance to the back of the van, but everyone’s still very obviously asleep. “I had a boyfriend,” she says. “At the beginning of the outbreak in LA. His name was Matt. Some guy bit him on the street, and Matt was sick, but I assumed it was just a normal kind of infection. He forced me to leave him behind, and later I found out what really happened to him. I never got to see him again, but I knew.”

“Alicia, stop,” Al interrupts. “This isn’t part of our deal. You’ve already –”

“And then there was this guy Jack,” Alicia continues. She stares out the windshield, but Al stares at her, jaw slack, as Alicia presses on, undeterred. “I was still adjusting to this whole _end of the world_ thing. I guess I trusted him a little too much, because I led him and his psycho friends to Victor’s boat. I don’t actually know what happened to him, but if I had to guess…” Alicia pauses, shaking her head. “After that, I swore that was it,” Alicia says. “I swore I was going to focus entirely on protecting my mom and Nick, but you see how well that’s worked out.

“And then we ended up on this ranch. It was relatively safe for a while. The racist owner was involved in some dispute with the Native people he stole the land from. That’s a whole thing, but his one son – Jake – was different. Everything happened so fast, and the next thing I knew, he was dead, too. I’ve tried so hard to convince myself that it’s all a wild coincidence that everyone I love dies, but now that Nick and my mom –” Alicia’s voice breaks, but she quickly clears her throat. “I barely have anyone left, is all. And Victor and Luci? I’m afraid sticking around will do them more harm than good.”

“People aren’t – they aren’t dying _because_ of you,” Al manages to say. She clenches her jaw and finally tears her eyes away from Alicia’s face just as Alicia’s eyes turn to stare at her. “People die,” Al mutters. “That’s just how it is now. It’s not like you’ve been specifically targeted. It’s not like you’re directly causing them to die. It just happens.”

“But if you don’t keep people around, they can’t die, can they?” Alicia says.

“Exactly.”

“Maybe we’d be good for each other, then,” Alicia muses. “As travel companions,” she amends quickly.

“Why?”

“You hate keeping people around, and everyone around me dies, so it’ll work out,” Alicia jokes.

Al hums in acknowledgment, fiddling with the chain once more. She knows Alicia’s watching her, but that doesn’t stop her. “How many times have you been in love, Alicia?”

“Sorry?”

“Did you not hear me or did you not understand?” Al says softly.

“I heard you _and_ I understand – I just don’t get why you’re asking me that.”

“It’s a simple answer. A number. You just…count them off.”

Alicia sighs and does a mental count. Halfway through, she asks, “Do celebrities count? Or like crushes that never went anywhere but lasted so long that it was probably love?”

“No celebrities, but I’ll accept the second part.”

“Then four,” Alicia declares. “Four times.” She pauses. “What about you?”

A smile flickers on Al’s face. She rolls her head over to meet Alicia’s gaze and answers, “Four.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Alicia says. “I thought it’d be higher. You’re older than me.”

Al blinks. “I’m twenty-nine.”

Alicia laughs. “No you aren’t! You’re at least, like, thirty-seven.”

“Fuck you!” Al exclaims. “I’m twenty-nine.”

“You were married,” Alicia says faintly, gesturing toward Al’s neck. “You can’t be that young.”

“Well, I am. I mean, _come on_. _Thirty-seven_? Do I really look that old?”

“No,” Alicia says quickly. “I just assumed…forget it.”

“Yeah, you assumed,” Al agrees. “You’ve done a lot of that.” Al pauses. “You look like you’re thirty-seven,” she mutters. She quickly follows the jab with a grin, but to her surprise, Alicia just shrugs.

“That’s what happens when everyone you love dies. It ages your face horrendously.”

Al laughs. “No wonder you think _I’m_ thirty-seven.”

“So everyone you love _is_ dead?”

“You already deduced that one earlier,” Al dismisses.

“Yeah, but now you just confirmed it.”

“And?” Al says.

“Nothing,” Alicia replies. “But we’re the same.”

“Not really.”

“Well, I was never married, and I didn’t have, like, a real job, but we’ve experienced a lot of the same things.”

“Because we’ve both lost people?”

“No,” Alicia says. “Because we’ve both lost _everyone_.”

“You haven’t,” Al argues. “Otherwise you’d be out here alone, too.”

“Everyone from my past life is gone. Same as you.”

Al sighs. Clearly she’s not going to get anywhere with this. “Okay,” she agrees. “We are the same in that one specific area.”

Alicia inhales sharply then says, “Wait a minute. Why’d you ask me how many times I’d been in love?”

“Curiosity.”

“Why were you curious?”

Al laughs and runs her hand through her hair. “Because you recounted the stories of the guys you’ve lost for no reason.”

“You said nothing I could say would change your mind about letting me stay,” Alicia points out. “So I thought if I told you something personal, maybe you’d change your mind.”

“So why’d you tell me about past boyfriends?”

Alicia smiles. “To demonstrate that you and I are the same. We’ve both lost everyone we’ve ever loved. I’m _assuming_ you’ve also lost your other family, you know, since you’re out here all alone.”

“You’ve made your point,” Al mutters. “But I’m not going to let you stay.”

“But I understand what it’s like,” Alicia insists. She sits up straight and reaches over, grasping onto Al’s wrist. Al jumps and immediately yanks away from the touch, and Alicia pulls back just as fast, like she’s been burned.

“I don’t need understanding,” Al says. “I got what I need.”

“The story.”

Al nods. “And now I need to go.”

“But why?”

Al sighs heavily. “We’re talking in circles.”

“It’s the middle of the night. Excuse me for not having well-composed thoughts right now,” Alicia snaps.

“Why do you want to stay with me?” Al asks. “Apart from _because we’re the same_.”

“I need a purpose now that the Vultures are dead.”

Al huffs. “This is my purpose. Get your own.”

Alicia’s eyes roll. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Well, you’re _more_ annoying.”

“You tried to murder me. You’re an attempted murderer.”

“Well, you tried to stop me from murdering a kid, so you deserved it.”

They both bust out laughing but quickly cut themselves off before the sound wakes someone. Al scratches the back of her head and grins lazily as Alicia looks over at her. “You know, pretty much the first thing you did when you met me was try to knock me out then feel me up.”

“That is _not_ true!”

“You grabbed my boob.”

“Not on purpose! I was searching you for weapons.”

“Why should I let you stay with me, you perv?” Al teases.

“Because then you can spend all your time gazing into my eyes,” Alicia cracks, but Al’s joking demeanor slides quickly. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean –”

Maybe it’s because it’s the middle of the night. Maybe it’s because Al’s been the only one burdened with this knowledge since it happened. Or maybe something in Al just snaps. Whatever reason, Al cuts Alicia off with, “My wife died because I missed.”

Alicia’s entire body stiffens, and for a few moments, she can’t form words. When she does, it’s just one, and it comes out all shaky. “What?”

“I missed,” Al says. Her eyes lock with Alicia’s and she gives a small shrug. “The shot I took at my brother missed his head, and when he attacked me, she jumped in to pull him off and got herself bit. If I’d hit him the first time, she would’ve lived. She died because I missed.”

“Al, you can’t blame yourself –”

“Shut up,” Al hisses. “You see, this is why I don’t tell people jack shit. They always want to make excuses. It’s my fault, and I’ve learned to live with it. Have you ever killed someone you love more than life itself, Alicia? I didn’t think so.” Al exhales shakily. “I lost everyone I cared about in the same day, within hours of each other. And I’m still fucking here. So I get the story. And I move on. And no one comes with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Alicia murmurs. Al wipes at her eyes while Alicia’s momentarily distracted by the bright moon they both have an unobstructed view of. “You aren’t out here alone because you’re punishing yourself, are you?” Alicia asks.

“I’m out here alone so I don’t ever have to put another bullet through the skull of someone I’ve grown to love,” Al snaps. She grits her teeth and stares out the side window at nothing in particular.

“I have her eyes, don’t I?” Alicia asks.

“Like I said,” Al mutters, “they aren’t the same. It just popped into my mind when I met you.” Al pauses. “You two are nothing alike.”

“How so?”

“She never tried to kill me.”

“You’re never gonna let that one go, are you?”

Al smiles thinly. “I don’t have to. You won’t be around much longer.”

Alicia shrugs. “Even if that turns out to be true, I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”

Al snorts. “How?”

“It’s just a feeling.”

In the morning, everyone parts ways. But Al can’t forget everyone the way she had before. Their story won’t leave her mind. It isn’t until she starts waking up in a cold sweat that she realizes this story’s fucking haunting her. She finds herself listening in on the chatter that happens over the walkie Morgan left her with. Usually it’s nothing major. Most of the time it’s Morgan or John. Sometimes June. They stay within range for days, indicating they can’t be that far from Al at any given moment. More than once, usually in the middle of the night when she can’t sleep, Al considers going after them.

The radio, eventually, goes silent.

On the fifth consecutive day of total silence, Al busts out the tapes. As much as Al tells herself she’s collecting stories for the future, frankly, Al very much lives in the past. It’s hard not to when every actual reason you had to live is stuck behind you.

Al runs her finger over the carefully labeled tapes – some of which she hasn’t touched in literal years. She’s too afraid of what watching them might make her want to do. Some have obvious labels: wedding, honeymoon, Madison – the newest edition. Others are labeled more vaguely – Hannah #27, Amina, Rosie #3. But Al can recall roughly what each tape contains regardless of the label. Amina’s the most recently watched, so that memory is fresh. Hannah #27 was filmed in Sydney, Australia, and it’s mostly just a montage of Hannah sight-seeing and looking happy. Rosie #3 is from right after Rosie’s baptism, filmed at Jesse’s since most of the family and some friends were gathered for dinner.

Al has too many tapes like those to count. She thinks she might even watch one today, but she ends up not being able to choose. She locks the camera and tapes away, and her eyes land on the Beretta stored alongside them. She flinches and slams the safe shut. She hasn’t touched that gun since she first threw it in there, fully loaded, and she probably wouldn’t touch it even if it was her last line of defense. She can’t bring herself to chuck it out the van’s window, either.

On the twenty-first day of radio silence, Al lies awake in the back of the van thanks to a particularly nasty thunderstorm. At least that’s what she tells herself. She isn’t ready to admit she has straight up insomnia. There’s sleeping pills in the van somewhere. Al knows she packed some. But she doesn’t bother to search for them. She lies across the seats, one arm and one leg dangling off the side, and stares up at the ceiling as the rain pounds against the side of the van. Thunder booms and lightning crackles – well, Al assumes that’s what that weird sound is until a voice comes out of the walkie on the other side of the van.

“Hello? Does anybody copy?”

Al bolts upright and slams her head on the shelf above her head. She curses, pressing her hand against her forehead, but she jumps up nonetheless and picks up the radio. She has her finger over the button, ready to respond, but for some reason, she doesn’t push it. Maybe she’s wrong. Maybe the voice doesn’t belong to who she thinks it does.

“I repeat, does anybody copy?”

Oh, fuck it. Al pushes the button down and answers, “I copy. What’s going on?”

There’s a long pause followed by a _very_ confused, “Al?”

“I said, I copy,” Al says. “What’s going on?”

“It’s the middle of the night, Al,” Alicia says.

“I am aware, but thanks,” Al quips. “Is something wrong? Are you okay? You aren’t alone, are you?”

Another long pause. “I am.”

Al holds back on _are you an idiot?_ Instead, she asks, “Where are you?”

“Do you have a map?”

Al climbs into the front and digs through multiple maps of Texas. Al pinpoints Alicia’s location to a McDonald’s just a few miles up the road. The torrential rain isn’t wonderful, but Al fires up the van and makes the drive quickly. Al just hopes the rain isn’t a sign of something to come. She rolls up on the McDonald’s, and sure enough, the place is surrounded by at least thirty dead. Maybe a little more. Definitely more if they’ve got the place completely surrounded, but Al doesn’t exactly have a clear view.

“I see your problem,” Al says into the walkie.

“Great,” Alicia replies. “Now what?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Al answers. “Are you armed?”

“Yeah,” Alicia says. “I just can’t take fifty of these fuckers on my own all at once.”

Al considers mowing them down with her guns but scratches the idea when she realizes she has no way of guaranteeing she won’t mow down Alicia, too. “Let me see what I can do,” Al finally says. “But you’re gonna owe me some dry clothes when it’s all over.”

“Just don’t get yourself killed or I’ll really be fucked.”

“Sweetheart, you are already fucked,” Al retorts. “You better give me a hand once you’ve got an opening.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you do all the dirty work by yourself.”

“I’m leaving the walkie in here,” Al informs. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

“Watch yourself.”

Al rolls her eyes and grabs the rifle off the shelf. She checks that it’s loaded, tucks one of the trench spikes inside her jacket, and flings the back of the van open. The rain is way more fucking awful than she expected, and Al’s clothes soak through to her underwear in about five seconds. She squints against the onslaught and makes her way to the front of the van. A few of the stragglers in the back have spotted her and are already shambling over, but most of the dead are still concentrated on the building, scraping their nails against the glass door and windows.

“Hey!” Al bellows. She bangs the barrel of her rifle against the side of the van. “Let’s go, fuckers! Over here!”

She pauses to slick her hair back from her forehead then raises the rifle and picks off the first dead coming at her. The gunshot’s more than enough to draw the majority of the attention her way, and she calmly picks off dead body after dead body, steadily backing away as they get closer. As soon as they’re clear of the front entrance, the door swings open, and Alicia steps into the rain, brandishing the gun barrel she’d held against Al’s throat when they met. Al slows her pace, takes the shots slower so she doesn’t risk missing and hitting Alicia instead.

The rifle clicks empty long before the dead are, well, _dead_ , and Al slings it across her back and pulls the trench spike from her jacket. They don’t stop until every body has ceased moving, corpses littering the entirety of the McDonald’s parking lot. Al swipes the blood and brain matter off the trench spike with the clothes of one of the dead bodies then pockets it. She rinses her hands clean in the downpour then runs both of her hands through her hair, pushing it back, as she approaches Alicia.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Al yells over the thunder that rumbles in the sky.

“I was thinking I needed a place to hole up for the night, and I needed to pee!” Alicia yells back. “I didn’t know I’d lead a herd here!”

“You need to be more careful!”

Alicia’s eyes roll. “Can we go inside now? It’s still fucking pouring!”

“What does it matter?” Al shouts. Lightning flashes in the sky, and it’s followed by a loud crack of thunder that nearly startles Al. “I’m more than soaked through, thanks to you!”

Alicia grabs Al by the bicep and drags her back to the van, pushing her toward the steps. Al yanks her arm free and ducks inside, throwing the empty rifle on the seats then returning the trench spike to its usual spot. Alicia pulls the back doors closed and locks them, panting. Al fights her way out of her drenched jacket and throws it with the rifle.

“Well,” Alicia says breathlessly, dropping her backpack to the floor. “Thanks for showing up.”

Al grunts in response. She unbuttons her shirt and sheds that next. She kicks her boots off, peels off her socks, and dumps water out of both boots onto the floor of her van, muttering to herself. Alicia watches her warily from beside the doors, not quite willing to set down her barrel. Just in case. Al hardly seems to notice her presence, though, and starts unbuckling her belt.

“What are you doing?” Alicia asks, wide-eyed.

Al looks over her shoulder then starts working her soaked pants down her legs. “Ditching my wet clothes, that’s what I’m doing,” Al replies. “You should be doing the same before you catch a cold.”

“Isn’t that a myth?”

“Do you want to find out in the middle of the apocalypse?”

Al sits back on the seats not currently holding her wet clothes and an empty rifle and manages to get out of her pants, throwing them across the aisle. Alicia has removed her flannel shirt but stops there, even though she’s just as soaked as Al. Al gets back to her feet and, as if she doesn’t have an audience, lifts her tank top over her head.

“Oh my God!”

“What?” Al questions, twisting her head around. She keeps her bare back to Alicia, and she can practically guess the next words out of Alicia’s mouth before she says them.

“You’re literally standing in front of me in just your underwear.”

Al’s jaw falls slightly open first, then she turns fully around. Alicia’s face immediately goes beet red, and she deliberately stares up at the ceiling. Al finally pulls her bag of clothes out from under the seat then snaps, “It’s the end of the world, Alicia. We have bigger problems than seeing each other naked. Grow up. And throw me that towel by the door, will you?”

Alicia does as she’s asked without looking in Al’s direction, and Al snags the towel out of midair and pats herself dry. She doesn’t bother to warn Alicia when she drops her underwear and replaces it with a fresh, dry pair. Al takes her time redressing as droplets of water continue to fall from the ends of her hair.

“You should really change out of your wet clothes,” Al says. She dumps her bag of spare clothing on the seats in front of Alicia and manages a lopsided smile. “Take your pick. It’s all probably going to be too big for you anyway.”

“I’m not wearing your underwear,” Alicia warns. “I’m gonna go commando.”

Al scoffs. “Then go commando. See if I care.”

“I’ll be wearing your pants,” Alicia reminds.

“You say that like I care.” Alicia grumbles to herself until Al raises her eyebrows and asks, “What’s taking you so long? Get moving.”

“I will once you stop looking at me.”

“Stop being childish.”

Al glances out the windshield at the dead that are starting to make their way over to the McDonald’s because of the earlier commotion. Al hauls herself up front, giving Alicia a chance to quickly get into dry clothes. They’re gonna have to move. The last thing Al wants is to wake up surrounded by three hundred walking corpses.

“Hurry up,” Al says over her shoulder. “I need to move us, and you need to be sitting down when I do.”

Alicia climbs up into the passenger’s seat, and Al spares a quick glance over, but it turns into an extended stare.

“What?” Alicia questions, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping down into the seat.

“Is that my Boston University sweatshirt?” Al questions.

“You didn’t say there were things I couldn’t wear,” Alicia defends. “It’s the baggiest thing I could find in there.”

She’s also wearing Al’s favorite pair of sweatpants, but Al bites her tongue on that one. She drives them a few miles up the road, hoping the frequent claps of thunder covers the sound of her engine. Al parks off the road in a small clearing and kills the engine, returning the key to the chain on her neck now that she has a visitor.

“Where’s everyone else?” Al finally asks. “Victor. Luciana. Where are they?”

Alicia shrugs. “I left them a little while back.”

“Why?”

“I don’t owe you that information.”

“Look, I just saved your ass from death by being ripped limb from limb and having your bones picked clean. The least you can do is tell me why the fuck you’re out here alone.”

Alicia inhales, eyes searching Al’s face for a long moment, then she mumbles, “Everyone dies. I thought I’d save them the trouble.”

“If you’re gonna survive out here alone, you can’t do stupid shit like this and hope someone’s listening on the radio at two in the morning,” Al snaps.

“You were listening,” Alicia murmurs. “I assumed you’d left Texas by now.”

“I see you’re still out there assuming too much.”

“God, just cut the shit, Al,” Alicia says. “You purposefully stayed within range. You _care_.”

“More bold assumptions, brought to you by Alicia Clark.”

“You’re so annoying,” Alicia shoots.

“And you’re so fucking stupid.”

Alicia has the audacity to look offended before she fires back, “Yeah? Well you’re pathetic.”

“ _Pathetic_?” Al exclaims.

“You’re out here all alone, mourning the past and moping in your van, when you could be out there trying to carve out some kind of meaningful existence with the time you’ve got left.”

Al’s too stunned to think of a proper comeback. Alicia hesitates a few moments after the words leave her mouth, and her lips almost form an apology, but she stops herself.

“There,” Alicia says with just a hint of smugness in her voice. “I said it.”

“That’s very brave of you, sweetheart, considering I could throw you out of my van unarmed and let the dead have you.”

“If you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have responded on the walkie,” Alicia replies. “But nice try, _sweetheart_. Now if you’re done acting like an asshole, I have something for you.”

“What?”

Alicia hauls herself into the back and retrieves her backpack. She sets it on the seats beside all of Al’s wet clothing and the rifle and pulls a bottle from it. She turns and slaps a full bottle of whiskey into Al’s hands.

“Consider it a _thanks for saving my ass in the middle of the night while it’s pouring_ gift.”

Al shakes her head. “No. Take it back.”

“Nope. No returns.”

“If you don’t take it back, I’ll finish the bottle before morning,” Al says through her teeth. “Take it back.”

She holds it out, and Alicia snatches it back. She twists the cap off and takes a long swig before passing it over. “I can’t let you finish the bottle by yourself,” Alicia replies. She returns to the passenger’s seat and leans back with her feet up on the dashboard, watching the rain splatter off the windshield. Al goes against her gut feeling and drinks. Worse comes to worst, if Al gets all sad and weepy, she’ll just pretend like she doesn’t remember anything in the morning.

Al swallows hard and hands the bottle over to Alicia. Alicia’s more than willing to take another drink, and for a while, they just pass the bottle back and forth in silence.

“You know,” Alicia says, leaning forward to set the bottle up on the dashboard, “I’m glad it was you that came after me instead of, like, Morgan. I would’ve never heard the end of it, and he would’ve never let me out of his sight again.”

Al smiles. “Morgan means well,” she says. “But he can be a little pushy when he wants to. Do you know how hard he tried to convince me to stay with them?”

“No.”

“He bribed me.”

“Must not have been a very good bribe if you didn’t take it.”

“The bribe was fine,” Al says. “I just can’t imagine having to listen to John snore every night.”

Alicia snorts, which becomes full on laughter. Al grins and shrugs. She leans across the middle of the van to reach for the bottle, resting on the dash in front of Alicia, but Alicia grabs her hand and pulls it off course.

“What’re you doing?” Al questions warily. The alcohol is slowing her brain down, forcing her to think then rethink every possible scenario. Alicia’s fingers grip tightly onto Al’s palm, and Al keeps her fingers flexed so it doesn’t seem like she’s attempting to hold Alicia’s hand, even though Alicia is very clearly holding hers. Al’s first thought is _she’s gonna break your hand then steal all your shit_ , but Alicia just holds on.

“How do you do it?” Alicia asks. “How do you stay out here totally alone and not lose your mind?”

“I’m not alone,” Al says. “I have my tapes.” She doesn’t mention that rarely does she actually watch them. Alicia doesn’t need to know that. Besides, just knowing the tapes are there helps.

“Tapes aren’t a good substitute for actual, physical people.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Al tries to pull her hand away, but Alicia’s grip is too tight. “Let go of my hand.”

“Make me.”

“Let go of my hand before you make me do something stupid.”

A smile flickers on Alicia’s face. She leans closer to Al and whispers, “Do something stupid.”

Al hesitates as her brain momentarily shuts down. She was thinking something along the lines of bringing both their hands up into Alicia’s nose with enough force to break it, but now Alicia’s face is only a few inches away, and Alicia’s still got a death grip on her hand.

“You’re gonna start breaking my bones if you hold on any harder,” Al warns. She suddenly feels a little bit like she can’t breathe properly as Alicia only marginally loosens her hold and definitely does not back out of Al’s space. Frankly, all Al has to do is lean back into her seat and hope her hand comes with. And if not, she breaks Alicia’s nose, no big deal. But Al doesn’t try to lean back.

“Or are you scared?” Alicia taunts. Her lips twist into a smirk, and she waits, eyes locked with Al’s.

“Alicia,” Al says quietly.

“Hmm?”

“If you don’t back out of my space in the next ten seconds, I will make you.”

“Then make me.”

Al sighs softly. “Alicia, you’re a fucking lightweight.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You _are_ , and you’re getting on my nerves. Give me my hand, and get your face out of mine.”

Alicia rolls her eyes but releases her hold on Al’s hand. “When’s the last time you kissed someone?” Alicia blurts as Al finally leans back into her seat, rubbing at her hand.

“When I had to kill my wife. Thanks for the reminder,” Al says bluntly.

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean –”

“Just shut up, Alicia,” Al snaps. “Alright?”

“Wait, so you definitely didn’t want to kiss me just right now?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re drunk, and that’s just common decency.”

Alicia pauses. “So if I wasn’t drunk –”

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

“You did, but I’m choosing to ignore you. Also, just for the record, I totally didn’t want to kiss you either. I was messing with you.”

“Great. I didn’t ask.”

Alicia reaches for the whiskey, but Al quickly snatches it away and twists the cap on.

“Hey!”

“You’ve had enough,” Al says, stashing the bottle where Alicia can’t get to it. “You should really go start sleeping that off.”

“You are not my mother.”

“And if you puke in my van, you’re cleaning it and you’ll owe me another interview.”

Al waits for Alicia to climb into the back first, so she knows Alicia won’t go for the whiskey. Alicia trips over her own feet in the aisle and mutters something about watching where you’re going, even though Al is nowhere near her. Alicia grabs Al’s wet clothes and the rifle off the seats and dumps them on the ground, leaving Al to pick them up and store them appropriately. Alicia drops onto the seats, cheek smashed against the metal, and she’s snoring within minutes.

Apparently alcohol is the cure to insomnia, because Al’s more exhausted than she’s been in forever. She takes up the opposite set of seats, sprawls out on her back with one arm flung across her eyes, and knocks out. Al wakes up an undeterminable amount of hours later with a mild headache, a dry mouth, and a body on top of her. For an embarrassingly long while before Al opens her eyes, she’s convinced she’s gone back in time and is waking up in a frat house at Boston University. It explains the headache after a night of drinking, the dry mouth, and the body.

But Al’s mind bombards her with images of the dead eating people, and her eyes pop open. It’s definitely not her junior year of college. Al groans, pressing her hand over her eyes, and shifts beneath the weight of the body on top of her. Speaking of which – _why_ is there a body on top of her? She’s nearly positive she went to sleep alone.

Al lowers her hand and forces herself to open her eyes. One of Alicia’s legs is pressed against the wall, the other slotted between both of Al’s. Alicia’s head is on Al’s chest, one hand clutching at Al’s shirt. Alicia snores softly, nuzzling her face against Al’s chest in her sleep.

Al considers her options.

One: immediately throw Alicia off of her and onto the floor, but in doing so, risk injuring her.

Two: gently wake Alicia up and ask her why she’s on top of her.

Three: close her eyes and pretend to sleep until Alicia wakes up and deals with it first.

Al chooses option three and squeezes her eyes shut, urging herself to fall back to sleep. Hopefully, when she opens her eyes, Alicia will be off of her, pretending like this never happened. And if Al’s lucky, Alicia won’t even remember that weird moment they had last night. Then Al can start looking for a place to drop Alicia off.

Who is she kidding? She can’t drop Alicia off anywhere. Not knowing she’s completely alone and barely able to take care of herself. That would make Al a terrible person.

Alicia starts to stir suddenly, and Al makes sure to keep her breathing steady and face relaxed. Alicia startles, lifting her head and gripping onto Al’s shoulders for support.

“Where the fuck am I?” Alicia mumbles. She looks down at Al. “And what the _fuck_ did I do?”

Alicia doesn’t move, so Al figures there’s no better time to “wake up” than right now. She grunts and acts as if she’s slowly coming out of sleep, opening her eyes. She’s staring straight up into Alicia’s face.

“What the fuck?” Al blurts. It’s a completely genuine reaction. She had no clue Alicia was hovering over her like this, even if Alicia’s still grasping onto her shoulders.

“Good morning,” Alicia says sheepishly.

“Why are you on me?”

Alicia hesitates. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“ _You_ are on _me_. How am I supposed to know?”

“I must’ve gotten cold or something,” Alicia defends.

“You’re wearing the warmest fucking sweatshirt on the planet. You aren’t here because you were cold.”

“Ooh, do you think my bra’s dry yet?”

Al blinks. “Alicia. Get off of me.”

“See, I would have already, but I was afraid I was gonna knee you in the crotch.”

“If you knee me in the crotch –” Al starts to say through her teeth, but the rest of her sentence is replaced with a groan as Alicia puts all her weight against Al’s shoulders so she can lift her legs off the seats without kneeing Al. Al pries Alicia’s hands off her the second Alicia’s feet touch the ground, and Al quickly sits up.

“I think it’s way past morning,” Alicia observes. “How much did we drink?”

“Too much,” Al grunts. “At least, you did.”

“Please. You weren’t sober.”

“But I wasn’t drunk, either. I know how to hold liquor.”

“I am doing just fine,” Alicia says. Then winces. “You got any pain pills?”

“No, that headache’s your punishment,” Al replies.

“Rude.” Alicia pauses. “So is this the part where I put my clothes back on and take off never to be seen again?”

Al rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Alicia, just shut up. I’m not going to ditch you out here. You’ve proven you aren’t capable of handling yourself.”

“Hey, I was doing great until –”

“Until you got yourself surrounded in a McDonald’s,” Al says with a humorless smile. “Nice going. I bet that would’ve been a wonderful place to die.”

“But I didn’t die.”

“Because you got lucky,” Al snaps.

“Or maybe it’s fate.”

“There’s no such thing.”

Alicia shrugs. “If you aren’t going to get me pills, can I at least have water?”

Al points her in the direction of her water supply and climbs up front. The rain hasn’t let up, and Alicia was right about it not being morning. It’s nearly four in the afternoon. There are a few stray dead hanging out outside of the van, and Al would take care of them if she didn’t mind getting soaked to the bone again. So she stays put.

“We’re stuck here,” Al informs. She returns to the back with Alicia, standing in the aisle directly behind the two front seats. “At least until this storm passes.”

Alicia grimaces. “Can you talk a little quieter?”

“No.”

“Now I kind of wish Morgan would’ve shown up.”

“No you don’t,” Al laughs. “You’d _still_ be listening to his lectures if he found you.”

“Because this is so much better.”

“Hey,” Al says, grinning maliciously, “I’m not the one that came onto you last night.”

Alicia’s face instantly heats up, and she splutters, “I did _not_ come onto you!”

“You totally did.”

“You are not even my type,” Alicia argues weakly.

Al smirks and takes the three steps forward required to close most of the distance between her and Alicia. Alicia stiffens but holds her ground, staring defiantly up at Al. “Then what is your type?” Al questions.

“Men!”

Al laughs and pushes her hand through her hair. “Then why’d you try to kiss me last night?”

“I didn’t!”

Al grins, chuckles, then claps Alicia on the bicep, taking a step back so the poor girl can breathe a bit. “Calm down,” Al says. “I’m just messing with you.”

Alicia exhales heavily then takes a seat, rubbing at her temples. Al gives in and produces a bottle of ibuprofen, tossing it into Alicia’s lap. Alicia’s face still blazes red, and maybe Al feels a little bit bad about giving her such a hard time.

“Relax, okay?” Al says. She takes the bottle back from Alicia once she’s swallowed a couple pills and places them out in the open for later. “We’re gonna be here together for a while. Might as well get comfortable.”

“Comfortable like stripping naked in front of someone you barely know?”

“Well, now I know it makes you so uncomfortable that you wouldn’t dare attempt to kill me while my pants are down,” Al replies. She drops onto the seat directly across from Alicia, and she clasps her hands between her spread legs. “You better hope this rain stops soon,” Al says. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep us fed. We can’t live off of whiskey forever.”

Alicia huffs. “I’m not drinking anymore.”

Al leans back against the wall and grins. “Why? Afraid you’ll actually kiss me next time?”

“You wish,” Alicia shoots.

“Kissing someone is very low on my current list of priorities.”

“What’s your current list of priorities then?” Alicia questions. “Must be pretty boring.”

Al counts them off on her fingers. “Get the story. Stay alive. It’s a pretty short list.”

“In that order?”

Al shrugs. “More or less.”

Alicia inhales sharply, but her next words are spoken quietly. “You know, if you wanted to die, you just…could.”

Al’s eyebrows pull together. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, and I told you before: I’m fulfilling a promise.”

“To your wife,” Alicia assumes. To her surprise, Al just nods. “You know,” Alicia says, “every time I think I’ve finally got you figured out…I just don’t.”

“Good,” Al says. “You aren’t supposed to.”

Al stands. She’s had to pee since she got up, but she hasn’t figured out a solution yet given that it’s still pouring.

“Doesn’t it bother you that you know so much more about me than I know about you?” Alicia asks.

“Alicia, you’ve seen me naked,” Al points out. “I think we’re pretty even.”

“First of all,” Alicia snaps, “it’s not like I _asked_ you to get naked. Second of all, that’s not – that isn’t what I meant!”

Al smiles. “I know.”

Alicia’s eyes widen. “What are you doing? We’re not –”

“Calm down,” Al says. She continues taking her clothes off before she explains, “I’m gonna have to go out in that rain to pee. I might as well put my wet clothes back on.”

Just to spite Alicia, Al strips fully naked before she pulls any of her wet clothing back on. She sticks with just her underwear and the button down, only bothering to button it halfway. The mortified look on Alicia’s face is going to bring Al joy for at least the next month. Al grabs the trench spike and throws the back door open. She immediately jams the spike into the head of the nearest corpse and makes quick work of the rest, rain pounding on her.

“I get that you’re watching me from the door to make sure they don’t kill me,” Al shouts, “but you can stop watching now. Thanks.”

“No, it’s just – I’m gonna have to go, too.”

Al laughs to herself and waves Alicia off. She takes care of what she left the van for and returns. She starts drying herself off as Alicia braces herself for the rain.

“I did all the hard work for you,” Al says as Alicia lingers in the open doorway. “All you’ve got to do is go out there and pee.”

Alicia hesitates. “You’re right,” she says. “But you look like you just jumped into a swimming pool, so I guess I should go out in last night’s clothes, too.”

“That’s the smart thing to do,” Al replies. She makes a point of covering her eyes with both her hands. “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”

“You’re a jackass.”

“You’re the one with the problem with non-sexual nudity.”

The Boston University sweatshirt slaps against Al’s chest, and she lowers her hands to catch it, keeping her eyes squeezed shut to respect Alicia’s wishes. Alicia mutters something that might be _non-sexual nudity my ass_ then trudges out into the rain. She returns looking as miserable as a wet puppy and slams the door shut behind her.

“I hate Texas,” Alicia finally says.

“Join the club.”

Rather than listening to Alicia bitch about not looking, Al climbs up to the front and lounges in the driver’s seat. There’s not much she can really do before it’ll be dark again. Alicia finishes getting dressed and joins Al up front.

“So,” Alicia says, “you still have my mom’s tape?”

“Of course.”

“Can I watch it?”

Al meets Alicia’s gaze. Al’s eye twitches at the memories the color of Alicia’s eyes raise in her mind, but Al nods. Al thinks nothing of it when Alicia follows her to the back, thinks nothing of the way Alicia lingers behind her as she gets the safe unlocked. Al pulls the camera out first, setting it on the seats, then reaches for the box of tapes that contains the _Amina_ one. And then the box is swiftly yanked out of her hand.

Al twists and swipes Alicia’s legs out from under her, convinced she’s going to make a run for it with the entire box. Alicia hits the floor of the van with a cry of pain or surprise, Al can’t tell, and the tapes go flying. Al immediately begins scooping them up toward the safe, but Alicia rolls and snatches one of them, bringing it up to her face so she can read the label on it as Al tries to steal it back.

“Who’s Hannah?” Alicia asks.

“Give it back,” Al snarls.

Alicia’s hands curl protectively over the tape. “Answer my question first.”

Alicia’s eyes flick toward the safe, toward the other neatly stored boxes of tapes – and the Beretta. Al acts quickly, determining Alicia’s going to make a grab for the gun, then it’ll really be over. Alicia doesn’t move, though, even as Al seizes the Beretta and aims it at Alicia’s forehead. The safety’s off. The gun is fully loaded. And Al’s hand trembles so violently, she’d probably miss the shot if she tried to take it.

“Give it back,” Al whispers. Her throat constricts, and the hand holding the Beretta feels like it’s been lit on fire, but she can’t let go. The last time this gun was fired, her wife died. The last person who fired it was Al. Tears sting Al’s eyes, but she blinks them away. She needs to be able to see if Alicia’s going to try to make off with the tapes.

Al knows that’s not the game Alicia’s playing. She’s holding it ransom for information that Al doesn’t want to give up. Al knows this is the rational line of thought, but she doesn’t lower the gun. She adjusts her grip on it, like it’s going to make her hand less shaky, and she holds her other hand out, palm up.

“Al,” Alicia murmurs.

“The tape,” Al growls, “or your head.”

“You aren’t going to shoot me.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Alicia holds the tape between her index finger and thumb and holds her other hand up in surrender. She scoots closer to Al, slowly, then presses the tape into Al’s palm. The barrel of the Beretta nearly rests against Alicia’s forehead, and she reaches over and gently pushes Al’s hand down. Al lets go like she’s been burned, and the Beretta clatters to the floor, causing Al to jump. She clutches the tape to her chest, glances down to see it’s _Hannah #27_ , and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Al, you’re crying.”

“That’s insane,” Al hisses. Alicia’s fingers touch against Al’s cheek, and her thumb swipes at the wetness there. “Don’t touch me.”

“Or what?” Alicia jabs softly. “You’re gonna shoot me?”

Alicia pushes her fingers through the shorter side of Al’s hair, over her ear, but Al’s eyes stay closed. She keeps the tape clenched in her fist, even though numerous others litter the floor around them, including _Amina_. Alicia’s other hand rests against Al’s knee as she brings her hand back towards Al’s face, unsure of what to do as more tears escape.

“I’m sorry,” Alicia finally says. “I didn’t think –”

“Get your hands off me.”

Alicia immediately pulls back, holding her hands up in surrender even though Al’s eyes haven’t opened. “She’s your wife,” Alicia says. “Hannah’s your wife.”

Al’s eyes open, bloodshot but blazing with anger more than anything else, and she shoves the tape against the center of Alicia’s chest hard enough to leave a bruise. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” Al spits. She shoves herself to her feet, taking the Beretta with her. She jams it into her waistband, tries not to think about how it physically hurts her to carry it, and goes to the back door.

“Where are you going?” Alicia demands. She gets to her feet, too, shakily, still holding onto the tape.

“For a walk.”

“It’s fucking pouring!”

“It’s water, Alicia,” Al replies, keeping her back turned to her. “It won’t kill me.”

“Al – wait!”

The back door opens, and Al steps out into the downpour, soaking her dry clothes, only armed with the gun she killed her wife with. She’s not sure she could actually pull the trigger on it again even if she needed to. Al slicks her hair back from her forehead, lets the cold rain wash the tears from her face, and she walks from the clearing they’re parked in out to the road. She hears the van’s door shut then hurried footsteps splashing in her direction.

“You can’t just walk away!” Alicia calls.

“Watch me.”

There are dead. The dead are always around, no matter where you go. Most of them are too far away to be a threat for a while, but they all start to target Al and Alicia and change course. The gun barrel dangles from Alicia’s belt, and she must’ve left the tape inside, because it’s not in her hands. Alicia runs until she’s close enough to snag Al by the sleeve, but Al immediately breaks Alicia’s grasp on her. So Alicia tries again, seizing a handful of Al’s shirt at her waist instead.

“Stop walking!” Alicia commands. “Before we lose sight of the van!”

Al’s hands cover Alicia’s with the intent of prying them off her shirt, but she pauses when she realizes Alicia’s right. She can’t lose sight of her van – her tapes. So she stops walking, and her hands stay over Alicia’s. Alicia doesn’t let go, eyes searching Al’s face. The rain might be coming down even harder than before now.

“We need to go back,” Alicia finally says. “Before the dead get here.”

“You’re armed.”

“The rain’s making it hard to see,” Alicia replies. “Besides, you don’t want to get a cold, do you?”

“I thought that was a myth.”

Alicia smirks. “Do you want to find out in the middle of the apocalypse?”

Al releases Alicia’s hands, but Alicia continues to hold onto her shirt. She jerks her head toward the van and tugs on Al’s shirt, but Al doesn’t budge. Alicia turns back, features laced with confusion.

“Al, we need to go –”

Al surges forward, cupping Alicia’s cheek in one hand and grasping onto her waist with the other. The initial surprise passes, and Alicia flings her free arm around Al’s neck, pressing her hand into Al’s drenched hair, while she continues to hold tight to her shirt. With the rain still smacking against their faces, the kiss is fairly slippery, and their noses bang together awkwardly more than once, but Al hardly cares. Between Alicia’s insistent lips and the rain that keeps trying to run into Al’s mouth, breathing’s sort of difficult, but Al refuses to pull back. If this is how she dies, then so be it.

The growls of the approaching dead should bring them both back to reality, but neither pulls away. There are worse ways to go. Alicia snaps back to her senses first, shifting back to rest her forehead against Al’s, breathing raggedly. Alicia’s hand is knotted in Al’s hair tight enough to hurt, and Al’s probably left a few finger shaped bruises against Alicia’s waist, and for a long moment, they both just breathe.

Then Alicia spins them around, releases Al completely, yanks the gun barrel, and jams it up into the skull of the dead that had been steadily gaining on Al while her back was turned. Alicia exhales heavily as the body drops to the pavement and nods to herself.

“We need to go back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said in the notes at the beginning, there'll be a second chapter of Al/Alicia coming up though it's technically all one. The next chapter will pick up right where this one left off.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


	6. Twenty-Nine Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a little bit longer than I anticipated, especially since my focus shifted back to Crash for a bit, but I hope you enjoy it! After this, there's just one more to go, and this "little" side project will be all wrapped up!

“Her name was Hannah Williams. She was from London. She had the – she had the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen. Two years ago, my brother bit her, and she figured out it was going to kill her and bring her back. She didn’t want to be one of those things, but she couldn’t pull the trigger herself. Maybe she thought – I don’t know. Maybe she thought I’d have a harder time living with it if she did it herself. Or maybe she really just couldn’t bring herself to do it. So I did it. And I buried her in the backyard with my brother, sister-in-law, and their baby.”

The sun has long set. The rain hasn’t eased up for even a moment. Al and Alicia lie on opposing sides of the van, Al on her back staring up at the ceiling, Alicia on her side staring over at Al. Hours earlier, in silence, they’d both shed their wet clothes and dried off. Got dressed. Laid down. Haven’t moved since. Al’s arm hangs off the side, the backs of her fingers resting on the floor of the van. The Beretta, the tapes, and the camera are all locked up again. The keys and the two wedding rings feel unbearably heavy against Al’s chest.

“I’ve never told anyone,” Al admits. She can feel Alicia’s eyes on her, can sort of see it in her peripheral vision, but she doesn’t look away from the ceiling once.

“I’m sorry.”

Al sighs. “Don’t be. It’s just the way things are.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Alicia says, “I wouldn’t have known that you hadn’t kissed anyone in two years if you hadn’t told me before.”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but Al laughs so hard, her body shakes uncontrollably. She ends up rolling onto her side, gazing across the aisle at Alicia. “Out of everything you could say,” Al says when she catches her breath, “you choose _that_.”

Alicia smiles. “Hey, it got you to laugh,” she says softly.

Al’s laughter fades into a smile, but it quickly slides. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Al says.

“Why not? I didn’t complain, did I?” Alicia jokes. When Al’s expression darkens, Alicia adds, “I would definitely do it again. I mean, I was kinda coming onto you that first night.”

“No, that’s not – I can’t have you become just one more person I have to shoot dead.” Al’s voice gets so quiet, it’s almost inaudible over the sound of the rain hitting the van. “You can’t be one more person I lose.”

“I’m not planning on dying anytime soon,” Alicia replies. “So you don’t have to worry about me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is, actually,” Alicia says. “You have more of a death wish than I do. I should be worrying about you.”

Al exhales, staring across the aisle at Alicia’s face. “I thought your type was men,” Al says.

“I lied,” Alicia says. “Apparently my type is more _people that are more broken than me that I keep trying to fix until they ultimately die_.”

Al snorts. “Clever. But this world’s never going to kill me. It’d be too merciful. I’m gonna be stuck here until I’m a hundred.”

“Because you promised Hannah not to die.”

“Bingo.” Al pauses. “Technically, I didn’t promise not to die as much as I promised to stay alive. I figured she meant for as long as possible.”

Alicia stands up and stretches out her back, groaning, and Al just watches her. “Slide over,” Alicia orders.

“What?”

“Did you not hear me or did you not understand?”

Al grunts then shifts so her back’s against the wall. Alicia lowers herself into the remaining space and loops her arm around Al’s waist, pressing her face into the space between Al’s neck and her shoulder. Al gingerly lays her arm over Alicia as Alicia’s fingers twist into the material of Al’s shirt at her lower back.

“Alicia –”

“Stop talking,” Alicia mumbles. Her lips graze against Al’s neck as she speaks. “Just hold me and let me pretend like nothing bad’s happening outside of this van, okay?”

“Okay.”

Al’s not sure it’s even possible to truly close your eyes and pretend everything’s okay, but if Alicia can do it, more power to her. All Al can think of in this moment is how she only met Alicia because the world went to shit, so the fact that they’re both here together means bad shit is happening out there.

“Shut your brain off,” Alicia says. “I can hear you thinking.”

“That’s not even possible.”

Alicia sighs and tugs on her fistful of Al’s shirt. “Just relax. You’re as stiff as a board, and I bet it’s because you’re overthinking everything.”

“I’m not overthinking.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Regular thinking.”

“About what?” Alicia questions.

“About what happens when the rain lets up.”

“We drive off,” Alicia says simply.

Al huffs. “Drive off to where?”

“Somewhere outside of Texas?” Alicia says hopefully into Al’s neck. She releases her hold on the back of Al’s shirt and presses her palm flat.

“I can’t leave,” Al says flatly.

“Why not?”

“My life is here.”

“Your life died here,” Alicia says softly. “So did mine.”

“Exactly.”

“So why stay?”

“I just can’t leave,” Al says quietly.

“Then what are we going to do?” Alicia asks.

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“What is?” Alicia grumbles.

“That there’s something _we’re_ going to do.”

“Shut up,” Alicia says. “You kissed me.”

“A kiss isn’t a marriage proposal.”

“Stop acting like we aren’t both in this together.”

“We aren’t leaving Texas,” Al says. “If we’re going to be in this _together_ , we’re starting with that.”

“Fine,” Alicia agrees. “We’ll stay in this hot, rainy hellhole.”

“Good.”

“But I think we should find Victor and Luci.” Al thinks it over for so long that Alicia taps her hand against Al’s back and says, “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I’m just thinking.”

“Well, we need to go somewhere,” Alicia points out. “Finding Victor and Luci is a start.”

Al thinks back to the days she spent lying awake while a small part of her hoped she’d hear a voice through the walkie. “Okay,” Al agrees. “But everything I’ve told you – everything you know about me –”

“Stays between us,” Alicia finishes. “Obviously.” Alicia hesitates. “I’m the only person that knows any of – any of that?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’m special?”

“If that’s what you want to think.”

“You can’t just say something nice about me, can you?” Alicia chuckles.

“You tried to kill me,” Al reminds.

“Well, you kissed the bitch that tried to kill you.”

Al grins even though Alicia can’t see it. “Shut up,” Al murmurs. She tightens her arms around Alicia. “We should sleep. We’re going to need energy if we’re going to track Victor and Luci down.”

“What about Morgan? John and June?”

“One step at a time.”

“And if it’s still raining in the morning?” Alicia asks.

“Then we wait.”

Alicia inhales deeply. “If we have to wait, can we just stay like this?”

“Yeah.”

Alicia falls asleep quickly, still clinging to Al in her sleep. Al’s insomnia returns, and she lies as still as she can with Alicia in her arms, listening to the rain hit the roof of the van. Sometime around 3 a.m., Al notices the sound of the rain is getting fainter and fainter until it disappears altogether. Meaning they’ll be on the move in the morning. Al falls asleep sometime right before sunrise, and when her eyes open, Alicia’s seated across from her, one leg crossed over the other. There’s a book in her hands, and she’s wearing one of Al’s flannels even though Alicia’s is very much dry by now.

Al lifts her head, groaning, and she mumbles, “What time is it?”

“Eleven,” Alicia answers smoothly. She snaps the book shut and shoves it back into her backpack. “You ready?”

Al grunts. Her head hurts, and she doesn’t really feeling like driving, but she nods and gets herself upright. Alicia holds out a protein bar, and when Al tries to wave her off, she throws the bar against Al’s back. It drops to the floor as Al turns back, and Alicia motions toward the bar.

“Eat that,” Alicia suggests. Al rolls her eyes but picks the protein bar up off the floor. She jams it into her pocket for later and climbs into the front seat. “Hey,” Alicia calls. “Are you good?”

“Fine,” Al says. “If we’re going to look for the others, we should get moving.”

“We have time,” Alicia dismisses. She hesitates, wringing her hands in her lap, and Al twists around from the front to look back at her.

“You coming up here or what?” Al asks.

“You know, yesterday I asked to watch my mom’s tape,” Alicia says. “Then I sort of did that thing I shouldn’t have, so I get it if you say no, but…can I watch it?”

Al sighs but returns to the back. Alicia stays seated while Al unlocks the safe. She hands Alicia the camera, and Alicia holds her palm out for the tape. Al places two tapes in Alicia’s hand, though, and when Alicia points it out, Al shrugs and says, “Okay? Watch them or don’t watch them.”

Al goes back to the driver’s seat, pulling her knees to her chest, and she stares out the windshield. The Amina tape plays first. Madison Clark’s voice fills the van for the duration of the tape, and Al flinches as Alicia ejects the Amina tape and swaps it with the second. Laughter echoes off the inside of the van, both Al’s and Hannah’s.

“Stop filming me,” Hannah laughs. Even though Al can’t see what’s happening, she knows Hannah swats at the camera, grinning. “Can’t you just take everything in without the camera? Look at that view!”

“I’m filming it,” Al hears herself say.

“Oh, shut up! You aren’t funny.”

They laugh again, and Al grimaces, afraid to look back at Alicia and see her reaction. The tape continues. It’s a pretty pointless tape, as far as they go, but Alicia watches it until the end.

“That was in Sydney, right?” Alicia asks softly.

Al clears her throat. “Yeah. A few years back.”

Alicia hums in acknowledgment. “She’s pretty.”

Al inhales shakily. She can feel Alicia’s eyes on her. “Yeah. I know.”

“Way too pretty for you,” Alicia teases gently. She tucks the tapes and camera back in the safe and locks it, hauling herself into the passenger’s seat. Al doesn’t look at her even though Alicia stares unabashedly. Finally, Alicia sighs and reaches over, prying Al’s hand off her leg and dragging it over so she can link their fingers together. “I’m sorry,” Alicia says. “If you don’t want to go after the others – if you don’t want me to stay – I get it.”

“We’ll look for the others,” Al says. She drops her legs to the floor and sits upright. She takes her hand back from Alicia and reaches for the chain around her neck. “Try the radio,” Al suggests.

Alicia leans over and stops Al from starting the engine. “You sure you don’t want to talk –”

“I want to go,” Al says, forcing a smile. “The sooner we get moving, the sooner we find everyone.”

Finding everyone doesn’t take long, but Morgan’s picked up a couple extra friends along the way – and made an enemy. This, Al reminds herself, is why she stays away from people. But time moves faster with other people around than it ever did while Al was alone. Those twenty-one days of radio silence _dragged_ , feeling more like twenty-one years. At least time is moving at a decent pace again.

Until they all end up poisoned. It becomes pretty obvious that’s what’s happening, even if they don’t know what’s causing it. Al collapses beside her van as the dead converge on her, and she struggles to get ahold of the trench spike before they’re on top of her. Gunshots ring out, and all the dead drop to the ground, unmoving, and June and Victor reach Al before she figures out who killed the dead. June and Victor haul her to her feet, talk over one another, but once Al’s eyes lock onto Alicia, holding a gun across the lot, she ceases to be able to understand the words being hurled at her.

“I think we’re even now,” Alicia comments as June and Victor walk Al back to the truck stop.

“What?” Al manages to say. “Guys, I’m fine. Let go.”

Victor and June release their hold on Al, and to her surprise, she stays on her feet. She looks to Alicia, and Alicia smirks and explains, “I just saved your ass, so I think that means we’re even now.”

“Yeah,” Al agrees warily. “We’re even.”

June presses her hand to Al’s forehead before Al knows it’s coming. “You’re warm,” June says. “Do you think it’s the same thing you had last time?”

“I don’t know,” Al says. “I think it was just a freak thing.”

Of course, it isn’t. Within the hour, everyone starts to feel shitty, and they discover the pre-opened water bottles before long. While Morgan sets out to solve the problem and play the hero, they’re all stuck laying around in the truck stop. Mostly because it’s getting harder and harder for them to move around. They spread out, and the group splits in predictable ways. John and June. Sarah and Wendell. Victor, Luciana, and Charlie. Alicia’s kind of off on her own, same as Al, but Al drags herself farther away, holing up in the corner with her camera and her tapes.

She figures, if this is it – and it really seems like it’s going to be – that she should at least see her wife’s face one last time. Al swipes at the sweat dripping from her forehead, grits her teeth against the cramping in her abdomen, and pops the tape in. She keeps the volume low, and she relives happier times for the first time since Hannah died. By the time Al’s watched all she can handle, tears mingle with the sweat on her cheeks, and she doesn’t bother to wipe either away. She films one last piece to whoever’s going to find her tapes, telling them to keep them safe, and she puts the camera away.

Al rejoins the group. If she’s going to die, fine, but damn it, she’s not going to die alone. Al claims an unoccupied spot on the floor, forcing herself to stay upright. If she lies down, she knows it’ll be all over.

“Hey,” Alicia says quietly, startling Al. “You mind?”

Al shakes her head, and Alicia falls more than lowers herself to the floor beside Al. “You know,” Al says bitterly, “I always thought my death would be a little more glamorous than this. This is kind of gross.”

Alicia cracks a smile. “I know. I’m not a fan of the excessive sweating.”

“Or the cramps.”

“Victor’s been in and out of the bathroom five times now,” Alicia points out. “We could have it worse.”

“Don’t jinx us. This day is bad enough.”

“Morgan will figure something out,” Alicia says, but Al can tell she doesn’t really believe it herself.

“And if he doesn’t?” Al asks.

Alicia smiles again. “There are worse ways to go,” she whispers. She reaches over and grasps onto Al’s knee. Al covers Alicia’s hand with her own and gives a shrug in response. She supposes Alicia is right. Frankly, Al would rather take a bullet, but she knows no one’s going to let that happen. They’re all going to hold out hope that Morgan’s going to fix this until the very last second. Until they start dying, one by one, and getting back up. No one seems to be in the mood to talk about that possibility yet, though, so Al holds her tongue. Because the first one of them to die is the lucky one. The rest of them – particularly the poor last soul – are screwed.

Al thinks Alicia might be considering the same thing, based on the sour look that crosses Alicia’s face. The world’s really beginning to spin, and Al can’t bear to be sitting upright anymore. She pulls Alicia’s hand from her knee and slides down in hopes that lying down’s going to fix the problem. Alicia grabs onto her before her head touches the ground, though, and redirects Al so she’s lying with her head in Alicia’s lap. Al’s too exhausted to argue, even as Alicia’s fingers push through her sweat soaked hair. Not a bad way to die, as long as she goes first.

Al closes her eyes.

Just when she truly accepts it’s over, she hears the screeching of tires and the slaughtering of the dead. Morgan Jones bursts into the truck stop, then runs out and returns with an armful of beer. It’s madness. Complete and utter madness. But it works. Al sits with a group of people she might even be willing to call her friends, has a few beers, and doesn’t die. Ridiculous.

Maybe not as ridiculous as turning a denim factory into a hospitable place. The sheer amount of beds they haul in there in the span of a couple hours is enough to wipe Al out for the day. Mostly because Al and John are the only ones carrying the beds in. They’ve filled a giant space with twin beds for the people they’re supposedly going to find and build a life with or something. That’s Morgan’s thing, and Al knows she’s free to bolt whenever she feels like it. The keys to her van are still around her neck with her wedding bands. Maybe it’s the perceived ability to leave that allows her to stay.

That and she claims a room to herself at the end of the first night. John and June are shacked up in the room next door, so Al hopes the walls are thick. She doesn’t stick around with the group long enough to figure out where everyone else settles. All she knows is she’s got a room to herself –

A knock at the door interrupts Al’s thoughts, and she grunts and rolls off the bed to go see what they want. She yanks the door open, expecting June or maybe Morgan, but Alicia stands in the doorway, gnawing on her lower lip. Al’s about to ask what the problem is before she realizes Alicia’s carrying all of her shit.

“What’s going on?” Al says dumbly.

“I’m the odd one out,” Alicia mutters.

“What?”

Alicia sighs and explains, “John and June are next door. Sarah and Wendell took up a room, so did Luciana and Charlie and Victor and Morgan. So that just leaves –”

“Me and you,” Al finishes. “Of course.”

She opens the door wider and steps back. Alicia sends her a grateful look and takes up the bed opposite of Al’s without another word. Within minutes, Alicia’s asleep. They never discuss it. Each night, they sleep in the same room. If they’re both there and awake, they’ll even exchange a _goodnight_. Most of the time, Alicia turns in before Al, and by the time Al slips into the room, Alicia’s knocked out. Al’s always careful to be quiet, but the relative safety the denim factory affords them means Alicia sleeps like the dead. Al could lead a stampede through the room and Alicia probably still wouldn’t wake up.

Factory life is almost like the domestic lifestyle Al never had – or wanted, really. If the world hadn’t gone to shit, she’d still be out there, chasing the stories around the world, preferably with Hannah at her side. She wouldn’t have bought a house in the suburbs of some American city; she wouldn’t have had children, even though she already got the marriage part out of the way. She wouldn’t be a soccer mom – or even a good mom, probably, hence the no kids thing.

But here at the factory, Al cooks – mainly breakfast, as Morgan and John generally cook dinner together and bicker like they’re an old married couple. They all eat at a large table like they’re a giant family, and when they aren’t working to get the factory prepared for other members, they play games or watch movies or relax.

Al still films things sometimes. But little things, like Alicia and Charlie playing Go Fish while sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Or later, Luciana, Victor, Charlie, and Alicia all play Monopoly, and Victor flips the board the moment Charlie bankrupts him. Slowly, Al starts to feel like maybe there’s still some beauty left in the world after all.

At least until Morgan makes contact with this guy named Logan. Frankly, the call for help – their first ever – couldn’t come at a more inconvenient time. The week before, Al goes to bed late. _Really_ late, and it’s definitely not because she sat up drinking with Victor long after movie night came to an end. Maybe Al’s a little buzzed when she returns to her bedroom, and maybe she’s forgotten that she’s been sharing this room with Alicia for the past couple months. She fumbles to get the door open, and once she does, it bangs against the wall loud enough to wake everyone in the hall, let alone Alicia. Al curses to herself as her eyes adjust to the darkness of the bedroom, and she shuts the door. The fun of a night of drinking has worn off, and now she’s just tired, so she collapses onto the nearest bed and sleeps it off.

She wakes up to someone prodding at her side. “Al. Um. Wake up, please. You’re crushing me.”

Al lifts her head in confusion, groaning at the painful pulsing in her temple, and it dawns on her that she isn’t alone. And her view of the room is totally messed up. Like she’s on the wrong side. Because she is. She’d fallen asleep in Alicia’s bed instead of her own because it’s closer to the door and she wasn’t thinking right last night. She rolls away from Alicia, nearly rolling off the bed, but Alicia grabs her at the last moment and saves her from hitting the hard concrete.

“I’m sorry,” Al mumbles. “I didn’t –”

“You were with Victor, weren’t you?”

Al pauses. “No?”

Alicia snorts. “You liar.”

Al smiles sleepily and nearly falls back to sleep, but Alicia clears her throat. “Hmm?” Al says.

“Are you just going to stay in bed with me?”

“Do I have to go?”

There’s a moment of silence while Alicia considers the question. “No. I guess not. I mean, we’ve slept together before.”

Al chuckles. “We have? I think I would’ve remembered.”

“You know what I mean. In the van –”

“I know,” Al says. “I’m just messing with you.”

“We never talked about it,” Alicia says quietly.

“About what?”

“The kiss. I mean, we sort of did, but we were joking. We never _seriously_ talked about what it means.”

Al’s suddenly not tired anymore. They lie on their sides facing each other, and just their legs are touching out of necessity if they both want to stay on the bed. “I didn’t realize it was supposed to mean something,” Al says.

“Why would you kiss me if it didn’t mean anything?”

Al hesitates. “It was a moment of weakness.”

Alicia’s eyebrows raise. “That’s the excuse you’re going with?”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“Don’t you think you deserve to be happy?” Alicia questions.

“Are you assuming you make me happy?”

A smile flickers on Alicia’s face. “No. I know I do. And you’re afraid of it, so you pretend like there’s nothing here, and you go on acting like it’s you against the world, but you could be happy again, Al. I could be happy again. Maybe not the same way we were before the dead started eating people, but happier than we’ve been since then.”

Alicia cups Al’s hand in her cheek, slides closer, but hesitates with her lips inches from Al’s. Al swallows hard, closes her eyes in anticipation, but Alicia waits until Al presses forward. It isn’t long before Alicia’s hands begin popping the buttons on Al’s shirt, and Al hurries to throw it off the bed behind her as she rolls on top of Alicia. One of Alicia’s hands tangle in Al’s hair, the other pushing beneath Al’s tank top.

As far as Al has been able to tell during their stay at the factory, the walls are fairly thick. It’s not so much an issue for her as it is Alicia. They sleep until late morning, though Al wakes up first and detangles herself from Alicia. She gets haphazardly dressed and stumbles toward the bathroom, flicking the light on. Al squints at herself in the mirror, at her definite sex hair – and the line of obvious hickeys trailing down her neck. Al groans and deals with her hair first. She’s forced to wear the collar of her shirt popped, which is both suspicious and idiotic, and Alicia smirks all the way through their late breakfast.

And then a week later, Morgan makes contact with Logan and formulates a rescue plan. The door to Al and Alicia’s bedroom is flung open, banging against the wall, and both Al and Alicia wake with a jolt. In the same bed. Limbs entwined. Half clothed. A stunned June lingers in the doorway, jaw hanging open, and Al rushes to get the sheets pulled up over Alicia before she gets to her feet and tries to usher June outside.

“Oh my God!” June exclaims as Al shuts the door behind them. “I can never unsee that.”

Al shushes her, glancing down the hall in both directions, since she’s standing out here in a tank top and her underwear. “What are you doing here?” Al hisses.

June stammers for a moment before saying, “Morgan sent me to find out if you know anything about planes.”

Al’s eyebrows pull together. “Planes? What about them? Please don’t say flying one.”

“Flying one.”

“Not really,” Al says. “I flew commercially or in helicopters. You know, like a normal person. I’m a journalist, not a goddamn pilot.”

“Okay, well, Victor is familiar with planes,” June says. “He’s just going to need someone to help him, and Morgan thinks you’re the best suited.”

“Great,” Al says flatly. “Can we talk about this later? Like when I have more clothes on?”

June nods, and there’s a glint in her eye. “Okay,” she agrees, “but you’re filling me in on what’s going on between you two later.”

“There’s nothing going on!” Al calls as June walks away.

“I doubt that,” June replies over her shoulder. “Put some clothes on and meet us out back.”

Al slips back into the bedroom, and Alicia stares at her, bug-eyed. Al manages a small smile and says, “I guess the word is out.”

“I can never look June in the eye again,” Alicia groans.

Al laughs and starts pulling on a pair of pants. “It could’ve been worse,” Al points out.

“I know,” Alicia agrees.

“It could’ve been Victor,” they say in unison.

“Put some clothes on,” Al says, tossing an armful of clothes onto the bed. “Apparently Morgan’s got a brilliantly stupid plan to rescue that Logan guy.”

“What?”

“June said Morgan wants me to help Victor with a plane,” Al says. She secures a belt around her waist and fixes her hair. “So you know what that means.”

Alicia sighs. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“Too late,” Al says. She kisses Alicia quickly on the forehead and says, “Meet me out there, yeah? I have to go do damage control, because you know June can’t keep her mouth shut.”

“Just tell them we just fuck sometimes,” Alicia says, grinning widely.

“And sleep in the same bed after?”

Alicia hums. “Fine. Tell them we’re in love.”

They both laugh, and Al shakes her head and pulls the bedroom door open. “Love,” Al snorts. “That was a good one.”

Alicia’s eyebrows quirk upward, but she just motions for Al to go while she gets dressed. The moment Al steps out back with everyone else, she knows June has already spilled. All eyes go to her, but Sarah’s the only one with any guts. She claps Al on the shoulder on her way past and says, “Nice catch, hot stuff.”

“We aren’t doing this,” Al announces, slipping out from under Sarah’s grasp. Everyone slowly begins to grin. “We are _not_ going to have some group discussion about –”

“Your extracurricular activities?” Victor supplies.

“Not a word,” Al warns, jabbing a finger in his direction. Victor holds his hands up in surrender and motions for her to follow after him. “What’s going on?” Al asks. “What’s this about a plane?”

“It’s been here,” Victor says. “And Morgan thinks together, the two of us can get it in the air.”

“Why doesn’t Morgan help you with that?” Al asks.

“Beats me,” Victor replies. “Logan and his people are stuck on the other side of a mountain, and they’re in desperate need of our help.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Al says.

She exchanges a glance with Victor before he mutters, “I know.”

The night before they’re set to fly out, Alicia and Al cram into the twin bed and lie side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Al really should sleep. She’s supposed to be Victor’s copilot, something she figures she has to be awake for.

Just as Al closes her eyes, Alicia murmurs, “Are you worried?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you worried?” Alicia repeats. She shifts onto her side, facing Al, and props her head against her hand. Al doesn’t open her eyes. “About tomorrow?”

Al inhales deeply. “No.”

“You and Victor aren’t pilots.”

“I know.”

“But you aren’t worried?”

“I’m not,” Al confirms.

“Even though we could all die in a fiery explosion if we crash?”

“Better than being eaten alive,” Al grunts.

“Only marginally.”

“You’re worried,” Al says, finally opening her eyes. She stares up into Alicia’s face, though Alicia keeps her expression carefully blank.

“Yes,” Alicia says. “Worried you and Victor are going to fly us straight into that mountain we’re trying to get over.”

“It’s more likely we’ll take off and immediately smack back down.”

“Don’t say that!”

Al laughs. “I’m pretty confident in us,” she says.

“No, you and Victor are both arrogant little shits,” Alicia counters.

“We will be just fine,” Al assures her. “But since I’m flying – well, copiloting – in the morning, I need to sleep.”

Alicia sighs. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight. I don’t know how you can.”

“I have to,” Al replies. She reaches for Alicia’s free hand with her own, holds it tight. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

But then plans change, and Al finds herself in the pilot’s chair. Unsurprisingly, they lose an engine on the way. Al isn’t entirely sure how she ended up piloting this thing – nor is she sure exactly _why_ one of the engines is failing. Probably because she’s a fucking journalist. Al can’t actually remember the impact. She must lose consciousness for a bit there, because the next thing she knows, June’s hand is on her face, and she’s being told to wake up. The plane’s on its side, but June’s alive, so maybe the others are, too.

Alicia better be alive. But first, Al has to get herself out of this fucking cockpit. Everything after the plane goes down is sort of a blur, until Al’s eyes land on Alicia, fending off the dead with a broken off piece of propeller. The metal’s slicing through the palms, and blood drips from Alicia’s hands to the dirt with each swing she takes at the dead. But a hundred things are happening all at once, so Alicia’s hands need to wait. Luciana’s got a pole through her shoulder, and for some reason, there are children with guns. Then Al’s attacked by a dead guy in a strange uniform, and honestly, Al’s had much better days than this one.

It only compounds when they reach the truck stop. First, it’s empty. No Logan in sight. Second, Luciana’s severe injury needs to be handled, and while June may be a nurse, what Luciana needs is modern medicine, a luxury they currently do not have. Third, on top of the crushing guilt of ramming the plane into a field – and therefore causing Luciana’s injury – Alicia can barely look at Al. When Al reminds her to clean up her hands so she doesn’t get herself an infection, Alicia mumbles something about taking care of it, locks the gate, and walks off without waiting for Al.

So by the time night falls, and Al’s holed up in the back, alone, watching her tape of the weird dead guy from earlier, she decides she’s got another story to chase. The speech Morgan gives her, and the promise of returning in the morning, only serves to cement that decision. It’s all too easy to slip away while John and June are having a tender moment off behind the shelves, and Alicia’s asleep in a chair next to Luciana.

Al radios Morgan only when she finds the maps. It’s a decision that almost pays off. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/questions/concerns, and I'll respond as quickly as I can!


	7. Twenty-Nine Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am sorry this took way longer than I expected. In the meantime, I finished Crash and put out a few more stand alone stories because I do not have all my priorities straight, but here is the end! I hope you enjoy it!

Al’s going to earn herself a bullet to the head. Or worse, she’s going to be speared on the end of that trident-looking thing attached to the rifle. The person in uniform – a soldier? – holds the sharp end of the rifle only a few inches from Al’s neck, and her muscles strain from the effort of holding it back. Only seconds before Al was put on her ass by the soldier, she’d watched them shoot the dead _dead_ in a manner of moments.

Even though the soldier’s pushing the rifle down toward Al’s throat, Al isn’t really worried about being offed. If the soldier wanted her dead, Al would’ve been shot down with the dead. So she must have something the soldier wants. Al’s theory of why the soldier hasn’t killed her better be correct, because she swiftly attempts to break out of the hold and ends up kicking the helmet off the soldier’s head in the process.

She’ll admit, she expected a man. So the first thing Al says, dumbfounded, is, “You’re a woman?”

Definitely not her best moment. The soldier’s eyebrows pull together in confusion, but she aims the trident thing over Al’s throat once more. Al’s done trying to hold her off, though. Her muscles are sore, and her head pounds. It’s still fucking pouring, and Al’s soaked to the bone. It reminds her of being trapped in the van after she rescued Alicia from that McDonald’s, but twenty times worse.

“Give me the camera,” the soldier commands. Al concedes, only because she doesn’t have much of a choice if she wants to stay alive. It’d be all too easy for the soldier to off her and get the camera herself, but Al has a feeling the soldier doesn’t give two shits about the camera. The soldier wants the tape.

Al plays along, though, and picks up her camera. She opens it when she’s told to, flashes the empty compartment where the tape should be, and dodges the soldier’s inevitable question of _where’s the tape_. The soldier, not one for smartass comments apparently, raises the rifle with the intention of slamming the butt of it into Al’s head. Al flinches hard out of instinct, raising her hand to protect her head, but the soldier hesitates because of a small clinging sound. The chain around Al’s neck had been jostled around, its contents clanging off one another.

“What is that?” the soldier asks, motioning toward Al’s neck.

“None of your goddamn business.”

Wrong answer, apparently. That’s what Al thinks to herself when she regains consciousness after being knocked out by the soldier’s rifle. Thanks to her smart mouth, she has a wicked headache, and her wrists are bound to the front seat. They aren’t bound with metal though, so Al can make that work. After over an hour spent tugging at the bindings, Al thinks maybe she needs a different plan. But she has to work faster, because the last thing she wants is for that soldier to come back before she’s freed herself.

She doesn’t even know how long she’s been out here. Probably just a few hours. Maybe more than a few, since it seems to be, like, midday already. Possibly twelve hours at the most. Definitely long enough for everyone to realize she’s missing. Maybe they’re looking for her, but Al hopes they aren’t. At least, not yet. Not while she has company. Al has no doubts that the soldier won’t be as forgiving with her friends as she’s being with Al – and that’s only because Al has something she wants. Needs?

That’s a problem for later. Al keeps yanking on the bindings in spite of her aching wrists. She’s escaped much worse situations than this, sure, but it’s getting kind of old. And Al only has one fucking boot. Her foot would be her first priority if she wasn’t currently tied up – literally – with something else. She’s going to rub her wrists raw, and certainly they’re already bruising. Al thinks being knocked out by the butt of the soldier’s rifle reopened that nasty cut in her head leftover from the crash, because she feels something that has to be blood dried on her face.

Al gets desperate enough to try to bite through the bindings. She doesn’t expect it to work, and it doesn’t. Shocker. Al sits back, allows herself a small break, and scans her surroundings. The station wagon is parked in the middle of a field encircled with barbed wire – and then Al hears it. The most glorious sound in the world. Growling.

Al does the only logical thing in this sort of situation – after she thanks whatever higher power may be listening for the little miracle – she screams.

“Hey!” she yells. “Over here!”

She goads the dead until it rips through its own abdomen on its way through the barbed wire to get to its intended meal. Then all Al has to do is get the barbed wire from it, not get bitten, and cut herself free. Child’s play. It’s kind of lucky that Al doesn’t have two shoes on. She would’ve never otherwise thought to use her foot to retrieve the barbed wire from the dead. She quickly pulls away from it, giving it one last good kick, then slices through her bindings. She rushes to kill the thing, slamming its head in the door so many times, its skull caves in completely. She’s wearing its blood on her face and neck, but Al supposes she’s had worse.

Al gets her shit and goes. She checks to make sure she has everything quickly – the chain around her neck, sporting the two wedding bands (but not her keys – she left those with Victor when he stayed back at the factory), all her tapes, the camera. The soldier may have overturned her bag, but she left all of Al’s shit with her. Perfect. The only problem is, Al is utterly unarmed, so she better make this trip quick.

Except it won’t be quick, because the first thing Al stumbles upon is a helicopter. Helicopters have radios. Maybe she can get through to Morgan or Alicia. Al immediately discards the idea of flying the thing. Of course, that would be ideal, but she smashed an aircraft that was designed to be much easier to fly than this thing straight into the ground. So Al will settle for access to a radio.

A distinctive little _click_ derails that plan.

“Get out.”

Al sighs. She drops the receiver and slowly turns her head toward the door. “Well look who’s back,” Al quips. “Nice to see you.”

“Get _out_ ,” the soldier repeats. Al takes a moment to study her face. Her eyes betray nothing – no emotion whatsoever. They’re green. God, what is it with Al and attracting women with green eyes?

A voice comes through on the radio, and the soldier’s eyes change, just for a split second. Panic flashes in them, and her eyes leave Al’s face for the receiver. The voice on the other end doesn’t let up, keeps asking for a response.

“Sounds like you better answer that,” Al says.

The soldier’s done playing games. She seizes a handful of the back of Al’s shirt and forces her out, all but throwing her to the ground at gunpoint, and she rushes to answer the call. The soldier says a lot of shit – lies through her teeth, really, except for the part about needing to refuel. The guy on the other end says something about sending a reclamation team, and if the soldier wasn’t already so pale, Al bets she’d go even whiter. Al watches warily as the soldier does something on her wristwatch – sets a timer? Then she trains the gun back on Al’s head.

Al does what she does best. “What’s a reclamation team?”

The soldier just glares at her in absolute silence. The gun stays trained on Al’s face. Al really does not want to die via bullet to the face. The skull is one thing, but the _face_? That’s just cruel. For a moment, Al sizes the soldier up and considers her odds of taking the soldier down and getting the gun in the process. The most likely scenario, Al thinks, is that the second she moves an inch, the soldier pulls the trigger and ends Al’s existence. Al probably has the weight advantage, if by any chance the soldier didn’t instantly put Al down, but while the soldier’s slender, she’s got a few inches on Al. And that material the soldier’s wearing from head to toe? Al guesses she’s not going to be putting any bullets through it if she manages to get her hands on the gun.

Before Al finishes her analysis of her chances – she gives herself about a two percent chance of surviving any attempt at a grab for the gun – the soldier backs off slightly, bends over to snatch something up from the helicopter. She thrusts a boot into Al’s chest.

“Put it on.”

Al nods, finally glad to comply. She jams her foot into the boot and tries not to wince at the pain it causes her. The bottom of her foot is shredded, and now that the pain’s been brought to her attention, it tries to make itself her top concern. Putting weight on it would be unbearable if she didn’t have no other choice. Al just happens to catch a glimpse of her wrists, and they look exactly as she thought they would. Raw, a nice blend of blood and purple bruising beneath it.

The moment Al has her boot back on, though, the soldier starts back up with the questions. _Where is it? Where’s the tape? Are you going to take me to the tape or am I going to blow one of your kneecaps out?_

“That would kill me,” Al informs. “And once I’m dead, you really won’t be able to get your hands on the tape.” Al pauses, glances over her shoulder to confirm that, yes, the soldier is still aiming a pistol at the back of her head. Yes, the soldier is _still_ scowling. And yes, the soldier’s still pretty goddamn hot regardless of the scowling and the death threats.

“The tape or your life,” the soldier says. “Choose.”

“You know,” Al says, cocking her head to the side, “I don’t think you ever told me your name. I’m Al, by the way. It’s great to make your acquaint–”

Al’s sentence ends with a loud grunt as the soldier kicks her legs out from beneath her and puts her on her ass. Pain shoots up Al’s tailbone, and Al lies back in the dirt and the leaves, staring up at the barrel of the pistol. Actually, Al can identify it. It’s a Smith & Wesson M&P, and Al knows because this isn’t the first time she’s stared down the barrel of one. She was a lot more panicked the last time she’d stared into this kind of gun, though, unlike now. In fact, she’s oddly calm. At least it would be a quick death, if the soldier decides to kill her. One bullet.

Unless the soldier is serious about blowing out Al’s kneecap. That death’s a little longer, a little more brutal.

“You know,” Al says breathlessly, “we can just talk about this. Make a deal.”

“You’re in no position to be trying to make a deal,” the soldier replies. “The tape or your life.”

“But it’s an easy deal,” Al says. She stares at the soldier’s face rather than at the gun, tries to read something off of it. The soldier’s expression is as stony as ever. “You tell me your name,” Al explains, “where you’re from, what you’re doing – what you’ve seen. And I give you the tape. Easy.”

Their eyes lock.

“No,” the soldier says.

“Why’s the tape so important anyway?” Al asks.

“I’m not answering your questions.”

Al blinks. “Then you don’t get the tape.” The Smith & Wesson lowers from Al’s head down to her leg. “If you do that, I’m not giving you shit,” Al says quickly. “The tape will stay where I left it, so even if you kill me, it’ll live.”

The soldier really seems to consider this. Finally, she jams the Smith & Wesson into the holster at her hip and holds a gloved hand out. “We need to refuel,” she says. Al stares at her extended hand. “Before the reclamation team gets here,” the soldier adds. “So let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

“What do you mean by _reclamation team_?” Al asks. She takes the soldier’s hand, wincing as the soldier’s fingers close around her raw wrist. The soldier hauls Al to her feet, and Al leans most of her weight onto her good foot as she brushes the dirt from her back the best she can.

“You let me worry about the reclamation team,” the soldier says.

“Then what should I worry about?”

The soldier’s not amused. Her eyes are cold. Her expression’s impassive. Not even a flicker of a smile. Al raises her eyebrows and waits for an answer.

“You worry about keeping yourself alive,” the soldier says.

“I can do that,” Al replies. She grins, and she is not surprised when the soldier doesn’t return it. But Al figures she’ll get her to crack sooner or later. As far as she can tell, the soldier’s still a human being. And after all the time Al has spent around Victor and Alicia, she can’t help but feel the need to push this woman’s buttons a bit. Well, that assumes she has buttons to be pushed, and while Al’s fairly confident that the soldier is human, there’s something not quite right. The _not quite right_ starts with the weird symbol on the sleeve of the soldier’s jacket.

The soldier doesn’t feel the need to hold Al at gunpoint any longer, thankfully. She even turns her back to Al momentarily to open a hatch on the outside of the helicopter and shove a bunch of climbing gear into a bag. The soldier heads for the station wagon, and Al trails after her, limping but trying to conceal the amount of pain she’s in. The soldier opens the back of the wagon, and Al almost immediately takes a seat, lifting her foot off the ground. She pulls her boot off in hopes that it’ll lessen the pain in her foot.

“Where are we going to get fuel?” Al asks.

The soldier continues packing for a moment then grunts, “Fuel drop.”

“Fuel drop,” Al repeats, nodding. What she wants to say is _thanks for being so fucking vague with your answer_ but instead she says, “High up?”

“It’s for a helicopter.”

Al grins and nods her approval. “So you do have a sense of humor,” Al says. “Good to know.”

The soldier tosses something into Al’s lap. “Take care of your foot,” the soldier commands. Al unzips the small bag and opens it to reveal a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of bandages.

“Thank you,” Al manages to say. She trickles the antiseptic over her foot carefully, used to conserving everything, but the soldier leans over and tips the end of the bottle up, liberally pouring the antiseptic over Al’s foot.

“Don’t worry about it,” the soldier says at Al’s startled look. The soldier empties the bottle over Al’s foot. “It’s not like that’s the last bottle of antiseptic on the planet.”

Al’s jaw hangs open for a while, because frankly, she doesn’t know what to say to that. This time, at Al’s bewildered look, a smile _does_ flicker on the soldier’s face. Just a quick twitch of her lips.

“Wrap your foot,” the soldier says. “We’ve got a steep climb.”

“Where?”

The soldier turns and points at the side of a cliff. A literal cliff. Like it’s straight up. Good thing Al’s not afraid of heights. Al just nods and winds the roll of bandages around her foot and ankle, securing it tightly before jamming her foot back into her boot.

“It’s gonna be a long fucking day, isn’t it?” Al mutters.

She’s speaking mostly to herself, but the soldier replies, “You’re telling me.”

“I knew there had to be a little bit of humanity in there somewhere.”

This time, the soldier glares, even as Al laughs. The soldier doesn’t justify the comment with the response, just grabs Al by the elbow and pulls her off the back of the wagon. The soldier pushes the bag of climbing gear inside and shuts the back, pushing Al toward the passenger’s side.

“I can drive,” Al offers.

“Shut up,” the soldier suggests. “You’re just along for the ride.”

“You know,” Al says once they’re seated with the doors shut, “sometimes it’s good to have someone watching your back.” She pauses. “Is that what that dead soldier did? Did he watch your back? Was he your partner?”

She’s met with silence. Al briefly inspects her wrists once more and kind of wishes she’d saved some of the antiseptic for them. What a shame.

“What about you?” Al tries again. “You still haven’t given me a name. I have to call you something.” The soldier glances over, but that’s it. “You know, I’ve been mentally referring to you as a soldier,” Al admits. “But I guess you really aren’t a soldier, right? So what are you?” Al waits a few moments before joking, “Damn, I really thought that one would work. I can keep trying. You have to say something eventually.”

But the soldier just drives. Every so often, her eyes shift over toward Al, as if Al’s going to fling the door open and jump out of a moving car. Al stares at the soldier the entire time, though. Her eyes don’t leave the side of the soldier’s pretty but infuriatingly emotionless face.

“I have to call you something,” Al says. “Come on. Give me something to work with.” The soldier shows no sign of budging. She hasn’t spoken since before they got in the car. “Fine,” Al says. “I guess I’ll just call you…Happy. I’m sure you can figure out why.”

The lack of a reaction is the most irritating thing. Al misses Alicia – more precisely, she misses the effortlessness of their banter. Alicia gives Al a run for her money sometimes, but talking to Happy is like talking to a brick wall and expecting the brick wall to talk back.

“Come on, Happy,” Al says, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Where are you from?” Al knows Happy’s not about to answer that question, so against her better judgment, Al says, “Would it help if I told you something about myself first? Do I have to demonstrate how to answer basic questions? Maybe that’s what it is – you don’t know how to answer these questions. So I’ll go first. My name is Al, and that’s short for none of your business. I’m from Texas, but I won’t tell you the town’s name because you won’t know where the fuck it is anyway, I bet. And I have seen a whole lot of _shit_. Just absolute garbage, even before the dead learned how to walk. You know all those stories that had the message of _humans are the actual monsters_? Yeah, man, that shit’s true. So, Happy, once again, _where are you from_?”

Happy stares straight out the windshield at the road, gloved hands holding the wheel at 10 and 2, like this is driver’s ed. Just when Al’s about to continue filling the silence with words, Happy asks, “Why does any of this matter?”

“Well, once we’re dead – or undead – our stories will be the only things left.”

Happy opens her mouth, clearly intending to say something, but a rockslide up ahead captures her attention.

_Damn it_.

The rockslide is more like a deadslide. Three of the dead stagger to their feet, and Happy sighs. “Wait here,” she orders. She gets out of the wagon, snags the trident-rifle hybrid from the backseat, and starts walking out to meet the dead. Al’s mind brings memories of the Houston outbreak to the surface. Machine gun fire. Sitting in standstill traffic. Hannah clutching onto her hand nearly tight enough to break bones. Seeing the dead up close for the first time.

Al physically shakes her head, as if that’s going to shake the memories away, and flings her door open. The moment she shuts the door, Happy turns toward her.

“I said, wait here,” Happy says.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Nothing’s going to rattle Happy. That much is becoming clear. Instead, Happy unzips her fancy ass jacket and slides out of it. “Here,” Happy says, holding the jacket out. “Put this on.”

Al balks. First, that jacket is _not_ her style. Second, she doesn’t like the look of the symbol on the sleeve, and something in her gut tells her not to associate herself with it. “I don’t take orders from you,” Al repeats.

“You want to get transactional?” Happy says through her teeth. Her voice offers the first hint of actual, genuine emotion beneath that composed exterior. “Everything I do is to ensure there’s more than stories left after I die.”

That’s a start. Al grins and takes the stupid jacket. The material is strange, foreign. Not Kevlar – Al knows what Kevlar feels like – but maybe something close. There’s something not right about it, but Al pulls it on, popping the collar. She stares down at the symbol on the sleeve once more, but it’s just as much of a mystery as it was the first time she laid eyes on it. Al fidgets for a moment, inhaling as Happy does a check of her rifle. The jacket smells…clean. Which is interesting. Nothing ever smells clean anymore. If Al wasn’t sure her nose was tricking her, she’d say she caught a hint of some kind of perfume beneath the overwhelming smell of laundry detergent.

Al zips the jacket halfway and watches as Happy spears the three dead with little effort. A loud rumbling sound catches their attention, and they both spin around in time to watch a second rockslide – probably set off by the dead rolling down the hill first – crush the wagon. The wagon with all of Al’s shit in it. Al thinks back to Houston, back to how she and Hannah abandoned their car when the shit really started to hit the fan. Her mind takes her even further back, to Iraq, to the IED that took out a Humvee and killed everyone in it. Al had just narrowly avoided being in it. She stayed back at the absolute last second. Call it sheer dumb luck or good fortune, but Al calls it instinct.

“I don’t stay in the car,” Al says. “That rule’s kept me alive even before people were eating each other’s faces.”

Al heads for the wagon without giving Happy a chance to respond – because Al highly doubts Happy has much to say about that anyway. Al manages to clear away some of the rock debris from the door and reaches in for her bag. Al blames the little stabbing pains in her foot for causing her to lose her footing – and her hold of her bag, which falls deeper into the car. She barely holds back a less-than-polite expletive as half her body goes into the car with the bag. Happy, meanwhile, has retrieved their climbing gear from the back. Happy says something about making it before the sun sets, but Al’s hardly listening. She gets her arm looped through the strap of her bag and hauls it out of the overturned car.

Al drops the bag to the ground while she regains her footing and bends down to grab the bag just as a hand digs its way out from beneath the rocks. It latches onto Al’s arm and pulls its head free before Al realizes what’s happening. The next thing she knows, there are teeth in her goddamn arm. And teeth are a death sentence. Al yells, more out of shock and panic than actual pain – although being bitten down on with the full strength of a set of human jaws hurts well enough. The fucker’s really just chewing on her.

The trident part of the rifle goes through the dead’s eye sockets from the back of its head, and its jaws stop. Al scrambles back, staring down at her arm in disbelief. She _knew_ something was up with this jacket. She runs her fingers over the fabric where the dead had gnawed on her arm, but it isn’t broken. Not even a tiny tear.

“What the hell was that?” Happy demands. “If you weren’t wearing that jacket, you’d be as good as dead.”

Al doesn’t have a response to that. She can feel Happy’s eyes boring into her face, but Al can’t bring herself to look away from her arm. She was sure she was a goner. In fact, her heart’s beating in her throat, and she feels like she could throw up, if she’d eaten anything recently. That was her closest brush with death since – well, just since the plane crash. But Al can list them off pretty easily. The antifreeze incident. Alicia trying to feed her to the dead. Alicia holding her at gunpoint. Alicia holding the gun barrel to her throat. Al’s mind rewinds farther, to her brush with Jesse –

“Hey!” Happy snaps. “Did you hear me?”

“What?” Al says, finally lifting her head and tearing her eyes off the miracle jacket.

“What. The _hell_. Was that?” Happy repeats.

“I need my bag,” Al says, as if it’s the most obvious shit in the world. That, apparently, is not the answer Happy wants and drives Happy to dig into Al’s bag regardless of Al’s protests. “Hey!” Al says as Happy pulls the camera free and sets it aside. “Be careful with…that.”

Happy’s found the false bottom of Al’s bag. Shit. And based on the look that crosses Happy’s face, she’s aware of the tape stashed in that false bottom.

“That’s not the one,” Al says weakly, but Happy’s already yanking the Smith & Wesson from her hip and aiming it at Al’s forehead. “You might want to watch that,” Al says out of desperation, “before you spray my brains across the ground.”

The tape’s simply labeled _Texas_.

Happy stares at Al for a long while, not lowering the gun, but she eventually holsters it at her hip once more. She pops the case open and shakes the tape into her palm. Al flinches as Happy puts the tape in the camera and plays it. Happy doesn’t bother to hide the confusion on her face as the tape begins with laughter.

“Are you happy to be back in your home state?” a distinctly British voice asks. Happy’s eyes stay locked onto the small screen, on the image of a woman with light brown skin and pale green eyes lounging on a bed with a book in her hands.

“No,” Al snorts from behind the camera. “I can’t wait to get out of Houston.”

“Hopefully they’ll send you somewhere nice next,” the British woman says. Her eyes light up, and she snaps the book shut, setting it onto the bedside table. “I’ve always wanted to see Rome. Or go on a safari.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Al hears herself say. Al drops onto the rocks, unable to keep herself upright anymore. “This story’s pretty weird, apparently.”

“All the stories are pretty weird, love,” Hannah replies. She laughs, and even though Al can’t see it, she knows Hannah swats at the camera. “Put the camera away.”

The tape goes momentarily black, and Al pushes her hand through her hair and braces herself for the next part. Happy shows no sign of stopping the tape. There’s the faint sound of crying before the camera focuses on Al’s tearstained and dirt smeared face.

“God, how did this fucking happen?” Al whispers. Her voice is raw. Hoarse. She chokes up again, too much to speak for a bit, but pulls it together. “I don’t even know what to do,” Al admits. “They’re all – I’m the only one left. The sun’s going down, but I don’t think – I don’t think I can go inside. I’ve just been sitting…” Rather than finishing her sentence, Al turns the camera to the four graves she’d dug in the brother’s backyard, all filled back in with dirt. Al remembers her muscles aching, remembers feeling like her arms were going to fall off, but she couldn’t stop. She finished that fourth grave. She filled them all in. And she sat in the grass and cried until she figured she should leave the story behind for someone else.

“They’re all dead,” Al says. The camera returns to her face, and Happy’s eyes momentarily leave the screen and land on Al, seated a few feet away, staring off into the distance. Al’s jaw clenches and unclenches as she hears herself say, “It’s my fucking fault, too. Jesus. If I’d just – if I hadn’t _missed_ – Hannah wouldn’t be…” Al shakes her head, purses her lips as her eyes well with tears again. “God, what do I do now?” Al breathes.

Even though it can’t be seen on the tape, Al remembers holding onto the Beretta so tightly that her hand began to cramp. She remembers debating with herself about whether or not she should go back on the promise she made to Hannah. All it would take is one bullet. One squeeze of the trigger, and she wouldn’t be alone in the world.

“I barely know what’s happening,” Al tells the camera. “People are eating people, and nothing makes any fucking sense anymore. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know where to go. Or what to do. Everyone is dead. I had to kill them. I had to –”

Happy pauses the tape, takes a breath. “Who was that?” Happy asks. “The woman. Hannah?”

Al shoves herself to her feet and snatches the camera from Happy’s hands. Happy raises her eyebrows and waits for an answer as Al returns the camera to her bag. Al removes the jacket and throws it into Happy’s chest.

“That’s not part of our transaction,” Al spits.

“Who is she?” Happy questions, grabbing Al’s wrist before she can stalk off. Al reacts as if she’s been burned, trying to jerk away, but Happy’s grasp tightens around Al’s sore wrist.

Al lets out a low hiss of pain then reaches into her shirt and pulls the chain free. Happy’s eyes land on the two wedding bands dangling off the end of the chain, and her eyebrows pull together, but Al watches Happy slowly work it out.

“Your wife,” Happy guesses.

Al tucks the chain back into her shirt and clears her throat. “No more questions.”

“She’s dead,” Happy says after Al turns her back. “One of those graves belonged to her.”

_Now_ Happy wants to talk. Of course she does. She wants to talk about the one thing Al doesn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole. The last time she talked about Hannah was with Alicia. And she wants to keep it that way. Al turns back around to stare at Happy with the impassive expression Happy has been giving her basically since they met. Happy stares back, unperturbed.

“You could’ve died,” Happy says. “For that tape. Why?”

“No more questions,” Al snaps. “Now I thought we had something else to take care of? Or did you forget?”

Their trek toward the drop point occurs in relative silence. Al doesn’t talk, doesn’t press Happy for more information. In fact, Al has nearly stopped caring. She’s had enough for one day, and they’re still a few hours out from sunset. Happy, naturally, doesn’t talk. But Al doesn’t care about that anymore, either. Let Happy be silent. It’s better than being nagged about the tape.

They pass through a cluster of abandoned cars, some containing occupants that scrape at the windows as Al and Happy walk by. Al tries not to look at them. Tries not to think about how, if she and Hannah had never left the car in Houston, they could’ve been just like them. Trapped in their car in standstill traffic forever.

Happy starts searching the empty vehicles. The first few, she comes up empty, but then she reaches a truck and pulls the trunk open. She nods to herself then says over her shoulder, “Looks like we aren’t the first to make the climb.”

“These people were just trying to get out,” Al replies. She takes a seat on the bumper of a nearby truck and exhales. “Poor bastards.”

“We need to keep an eye out,” Happy informs. “In case we have company up there.”

Al grunts in acknowledgement.

“How’s your foot?” Happy continues. “Are you good with heights? What about your wrists? You’ve been looking at them a lot.” The silent game is something only Happy can play, apparently, because Happy very quickly turns from the truck with the extra climbing gear and says, “Al. I need you to answer me.”

Al stares blankly at Happy. Happy, who can’t even be bothered to give Al a fake-ass name to use. That’s literally all she had to do. She could just give a bullshit name, a bullshit town or state or country. She could just lie through her teeth. Al doubts she’ll be able to tell when Happy’s lying or not, because Happy only seems to have one facial expression at her disposal.

“I’ve answered plenty,” Al finally says when Happy refuses to stop staring at her.

Happy shakes her head. “We’ll make camp here,” she decides. “Unless you want to argue about it?”

Al blinks. Shrugs. She continues to sit as Happy takes care of their camp, bouncing her good leg and staring down at the dirt. That tape was in the false bottom of Al’s bag for a reason. She never intended to watch – or listen – to it again.

Happy manages to rig the tent so it hangs well above the reach of the dead and even volunteers to take the first watch. She’s being oddly nice to Al, and she’s much more talkative (too little, too late, though). Al, though, recounts the events of Houston in painstaking detail, one step at a time, as she stretches out in the tent on her back. She can’t really stretch too far, forced to bend her legs to keep her feet from pressing against the side. The sun sets quickly, or so it seems, as Al’s too lost in her thoughts to pay much attention to her surroundings.

Nightfall brings cooler temperatures and sustained attempts from Happy to get Al to engage. First with dinner. Happy doesn’t take Al’s refusal to eat without a fight. But honestly, Al can’t stomach the thought of eating anything. Especially not now. So Al stares up at the ceiling, replays how she let Jesse out of the bedroom closet, how she aimed haphazardly and pulled the trigger at the wrong moment. How she shredded his vocal chords instead of splattering his brains against the wall. She remembers struggling to hold him off, to keep him from getting his teeth into her face. She especially remembers Hannah’s scream when she rescued Al from Jesse, taking his teeth to the arm.

“Al,” Happy says. “You really need to eat.”

Al exhales and turns her head to the side, laying eyes directly on Happy for the first time in over an hour. Happy, the master of the single expression, actually looks exhausted. Al flinches as her mind replays the final gunshot from the Beretta, the way Hannah’s body crumpled to the grass. Al had screamed until her voice died, until she physically couldn’t scream anymore, and she forced her aching muscles to wrap Hannah’s body, to lower it into the earth, to cover the grave. She remembers thinking that maybe all the screaming was a bad idea – that maybe it was going to bring those people – those _things_ – straight to her, but nothing came.

She was disappointed when they didn’t. 

“Have you lost anyone, Happy?” Al asks, keeping her voice level. “Besides your partner, because you didn’t really seem to care about him, did you? Don’t worry, I know you’re not going to answer that. Just thought I’d ask anyway.”

“I was doing my job,” Happy says, startling Al. “That’s why I killed my partner. I was doing my job.”

Al doesn’t know how to respond, so she doesn’t. She turns her head back so she can stare up at the ceiling of the tent, and she tries to ignore the growls of the dead passing through beneath them.

“Hannah,” Happy says softly. “She was your wife.”

Al swallows hard and gives an almost imperceptible nod, but nothing gets past Happy.

“What did you mean?” Happy presses. “You said you missed. That it was your fault. What did you mean?”

Al grits her teeth, feels Happy staring at her from across the tent – which isn’t very far. If Al reaches her foot out, she could kick Happy right in the side of the ass. If she wanted to.

“I shot my brother in the neck,” Al says. “If I’d hit him in the head, my wife would still be here. I wouldn’t have had to put a bullet in the back of her skull.” Al props herself up onto her elbows, glares at Happy through the darkness. “Now tell me why you’re out here.”

The shock wears off quickly, and Happy can’t _not_ give Al something to work with. Happy clears her throat and thinks for a moment. “We’re the past,” Happy says. “I get why the stories mean so much to you. I do. But someone has to be here to watch the stories if they’re going to matter.”

“That’s the answer you’re going with?”

Happy nods. “You should rest. We climb at dawn.”

Al rolls over, draws her knees closer to her chest, and closes her eyes. If Happy wants to kill her in her sleep, let her. Al knows this won’t happen. Happy needs the tape, and Al’s not stupid enough to carry it on her. So Al will live another night.

Morning brings the exhausting climb up the side of a cliff. Happy seems experienced enough with climbing, and while it’s not something Al has done a lot, she’s not totally unprepared. Al’s content to let Happy guide her along – that is, at least, until Happy falls. Al should’ve seen some shit like this coming. Nothing can ever just go smoothly. Between Al’s throbbing foot and aching wrists, she really could’ve done without Happy’s fall. Now Al has to deal with the dead guy dangling off to her left, blocking the only viable path up the cliff. Oh, and if Al falls, it’s game over. There’s nothing holding her to the cliff except her grip strength.

“You fall, I fall,” Al mutters to herself. She whacks the dead climber’s arm away, straining to get a hold of the climbing pick hanging at his side. He tries to claw at her face, and Al impatiently shoves his arm away again. Her fingers almost have the stupid pick –

Got it. Al stabs the pick up through the underside of the dead climber’s jaw and watches the blood rain down against the rocks. Now she just has to attach herself – and therefore Happy – to the dead climber’s established line. No big deal. Except it’s _just_ out of Al’s reach. Which means she’s going to have to jump for it.

“If I die,” Al calls down to Happy, “it’s all your fault, okay? I want you to know that.”

She doesn’t give Happy a chance to respond. Al steels herself then makes the jump. The carabiner locks in. Al laughs in both surprise and relief then takes a moment to try to get her heart to slow down. The rest of the climb, fortunately, is uneventful. Al feels a hundred times better when she swings her leg over the top and falls against the rock, breathing heavily. She presses her face to the ground and closes her eyes, more than just a little thrilled to not be hanging off the side of a cliff anymore.

Al rolls onto her back and stares up at the sky. As fucking terrifying as that was, Al kind of likes the rush. Now she’s totally spent, though, and her muscles protest at even the slightest movements. Al’s vaguely aware that Happy takes a seat a few feet to her left, and though Al can’t imagine having to sit upright yet, Happy doesn’t even seem tired.

Al could go for a beer. Or four. And a nap. A beer and a nap. Al can’t conjure up a beer, but she sure as hell can make the nap happen. Her eyes close, and she actually almost drifts off. Happy’s voice startles Al awake, and Al listens to Happy recount why she killed her partner – Beckett. It isn’t until Happy says something about following protocol – eliminating threats to _operational security_ – that Al realizes what’s going on here.

No matter what, she’s going to die. Al can hand over the tape – or she can refuse – but either way, she ends up dead. Al weighs the risk of calling it to Happy’s attention, but hey, if she’s a dead woman walking, she might as well, right?

“So you’re gonna have to kill me, too,” Al says, setting her eyes on Happy’s face. Happy wears that infuriatingly blank expression.

“No,” Happy lies. “I need your help.”

“After,” Al says softly. She looks away, back out at the view. Maybe, in another life, she’d enjoy what she sees. “Let me rephrase,” Al says, swallowing hard. “Do you have to kill me for operational security?”

Happy is silent for an oddly long amount of time. So long, Al looks back over, just to make sure Happy hasn’t slid off the cliff. “Yeah,” Happy finally says.

Al just nods and stares back out at the landscape. It really is beautiful, in an objective way, but Al takes no pleasure from the sight. She thinks of her friends that she’s never going to see again, once Happy stomps the life out of her (well, really a bullet’s going to do all the dirty work for her, but Al doesn’t want to think about that right now). Mostly she thinks about Alicia. But it’s weird. Al feels…detached, almost. She’s strangely calm despite her knowledge of her impending death. Al’s mind flickers back to the tape Happy had watched, and she thinks that maybe – just _maybe_ – she even feels a little relieved.

They find a second climber – also dead – at the helicopter landing sight. Happy carries the trident-rifle, orders Al to stay where she’s at, and goes to kill it. The moment after Happy kills the dead, Al puts her on her ass. Just to teach her a lesson. Al comes up with the trident-rifle and holds it over Happy’s throat, planting her knee on Happy’s chest. Al tries to hide her surprise when Happy doesn’t throw her off or fight back. It’s the utter lack of a response that sways Al’s decision toward letting Happy live.

Al backs down. Al’s not really looking for a fight. Frankly, she has a headache now, on top of her other injuries, and she’d rather just get on with things. Now that Al has the gun – though Happy is still in possession of her sidearm – Happy offers to talk. So they set up camp. Get a fire going. Spread out sleeping bags and sit in the waning sunlight around the fire. Happy, of course, keeps things vague, but Al’s still curious. Something major is obviously going on. Major and secretive. Al listens to Happy talk about how the place she’s from is the future, how it’s bigger than them.

“So,” Al says when silence settles between them, “how’d a girl like you end up in a place like that?”

Happy actually cracks a smile. “A girl like me?” Happy questions, and Al just laughs. “Right place at the right time, I suppose,” Happy says.

“I guess so.”

“What about you?” Happy asks gently. “What are you out here for? What’d you crash that plane for?”

“Okay, first of all,” Al says defensively, “I didn’t _mean_ to crash the plane. We lost an engine, and that is _not_ my fault.”

“You’re no pilot, huh?”

“I’m a journalist,” Al says. “I ride in aircraft. I don’t fly them.”

“For good reason, apparently.”

Al shakes her head and stares into the fire. “I should’ve left,” Al admits. “A long time ago. I should’ve left Texas.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Al agrees. She tears her eyes away from the fire, staring over at Happy. “My life started here, and it died here,” Al says. “I don’t know how to leave it behind.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

Their eyes lock. Happy manages a small smile and shrugs. “Maybe.”

Al exhales heavily. “So Beckett was your friend?”

Happy’s eyebrows pull together in confusion, but she nods.

“So you’re allowed to have friends?” Al asks.

“Are you allowed to have friends?”

Al grins. “See? Your sense of humor’s back. To be fair, I’m not part of some top secret community that’s _for the future_ or whatever. I’m just a normal bitch.”

“Maybe a normal bitch would’ve left Texas before now.”

“You got me there,” Al replies. “You know, I could really use a beer.”

This time, Happy smiles wide. “I think I can do something about that.”

Happy gets to her feet as Al calls, “Wait, seriously?”

Happy returns with a bottle, and Al could seriously cry. She’s going to drink beer, sleep on top of a cliff with a gorgeous view, and go out with a literal bang – all while keeping her promise to her wife. What more could a girl ask for?

Al shares a beer with Happy, this woman she barely knows and never will know, then passes out beside the fire, completely at peace with what’s happening. That’s not quite the case when she’s shaken awake by Happy at the crack of dawn, and Al follows after Happy with an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

Al takes Happy to the tape. She stashed it on the dead, because who would think to check there? The thing’s still alive, but it’s legs are both snapped nearly in half, and it’s unable to move itself. And Al hands Happy the tape. It’s a kind of bittersweet moment, actually.

“Here,” Al says. “Are you happy?”

Happy doesn’t respond. The thought crosses Al’s mind that she’s going to be killed by a woman whose name she doesn’t even know – a woman she’s been referring to by a stupid nickname their entire time together. Al offers Happy the camera so she can check the tape, but Happy takes Al’s word for it and destroys it without ensuring it’s the correct one.

But the tape, of course, is only part of the story. So Al turns her back to Happy when she’s asked. She closes her eyes. She breathes. And she waits.

Al has had plenty of time to think about death. As a concept. Her own. Other people’s. She has determined that, although Hannah died believing she would see Al again once everything ends, in fact, nothing occurs after death. As much as Al would love to believe death brings paradise, she knows somewhere deep inside herself that after she dies, she will cease to exist forever. Nothing will happen. The Earth will keep spinning without her, the way it kept spinning when Al’s entire family died.

Al realizes she hasn’t really thought about her own death – excluding the time she’s spent with Happy, when her death became imminent – since before she settled into the factory.

It’s taking Happy a long fucking time to just pull the stupid trigger. It takes Happy so long, Al remembers she’s got the Texas tape on her still, and she figures something better become of it. She turns her head just enough to see Happy in her peripheral vision, and Al reaches into her jacket and grabs the tape.

“Here,” she says. “Take this.” Al turns just enough to hand the tape over, and Happy hesitates, lowering the gun from the back of Al’s head for a moment. Al turns her back to Happy once more, inhales deeply, and waits. Dying next to a river is kind of nice, Al thinks. The sound of running water is pleasant. “Are you screwing with me?” Al asks. “Because this is taking an awful long –”

“Stop.”

Al falls silent. But honestly, can’t Happy just get on with it? Al spins back around and startles. There’s no gun pointed at her. She thinks Happy might even be tearing up a bit. She wants to ask what the hell Happy thinks she’s doing, holstering the Smith & Wesson and staring at Al with this weird sad look on her face.

Al considers her options. She’d kind of been set on dying. Mostly. There’s a small part of her telling her to fight back, to return to her friends, to the life they were trying to scrape together. Another, slightly larger, part of her tells her this is her way out without breaking her promise to her wife.

But she didn’t even say goodbye. To anyone. Not June or John. Not Morgan. And especially not Alicia. As Al stares into Happy’s eyes – green eyes – something Alicia said once resurfaces from Al’s memory.

_Everyone around me dies._

Damn it. Just as Al opens her mouth to beg for her life or do something else that’s utterly stupid, Happy beats her to the chase.

“My name is Isabelle. I’m from Indiana. And I got to see the prettiest thing I’ve seen since the end of everything.”

_Your name._

_Where you’re from._

_What you’ve seen._

Al’s too dumbstruck to say anything back. Happy – Isabelle – steps forward, and Al meets her halfway. They cling to each other like they’re the last two people on the planet, but Al’s body stays on high alert the entire time. It’s been a long time since Al’s been able to fully trust someone, and she’s still not entirely sure Isabelle isn’t kissing her just to get her to lower her guard. But Isabelle doesn’t use the kiss as a way to kill Al, not even when Al pulls back and rests her forehead on Isabelle’s.

Al’s heart hammers in her throat, and she kind of feels like she could pass out. She keeps her eyes closed and waits for the inevitable _I know I just kissed you but I still have to kill you_.

It never comes.

Al has to take the first step back, and she pretends like she doesn’t see Isabelle swipe at her eyes. Isabelle holds the Texas tape out to Al, but Al hesitates. Then she shakes her head.

“Keep that,” Al says. “Maybe I’ll see you again,” she adds. “When it’s all over.”

They both manage shaky smiles, and Isabelle murmurs, “Yeah,” even though they both know this will never be over. At least not for them. But it’s a nice thought.

When they part ways, they don’t look at each other. Neither spares a glance back. Al finds the walkie amongst all her things and puts out a call for Morgan and Alicia, hoping to God they’re in range. They wouldn’t actually leave her behind, right? Because the last thing Al can fathom in this moment is setting out by herself again.

“Al?” Alicia says through the walkie.

Al laughs in surprise. “Yeah. It’s me. Where are you guys?”

They set up a place to meet, and Al arrives first. She takes a seat on the ground beside her bag and exhales shakily. She keeps the walkie in her hand, but it stays silent up until Al hears the crunching of leaves and twigs beneath boots. Al jumps to her feet, dropping the walkie on top of her bag, as Alicia steps into view.

The first thing Al notices is that Alicia actually bothered to take care of her hands; they’re both wound in bandages. For a moment, they both just stare at each other. Al breaks first, grinning widely, and that’s enough to spur Alicia into action. Alicia laughs breathlessly and rushes forward, nearly jumping into Al’s arms. Alicia locks her arms around Al’s neck and hangs on, pressing one hand against the back of Al’s head.

“I thought you were gone,” Alicia whispers.

“Not yet,” Al murmurs. “I’m a hard bitch to take down.”

Alicia just nods. Al’s eyes scan the surrounding trees, but Alicia, it seems, has come alone. Right as Alicia’s finally loosening her chokehold on Al’s neck, a helicopter takes off in the distance. Alicia holds onto Al’s shoulders, but her eyes lift to the sky. Alicia’s eyes return to Al’s face before long.

“Did you –?”

“I didn’t find it,” Al says gently. There’s a pause. “Morgan didn’t come?”

Alicia shakes her head and moves one of her hands from Al’s shoulder to her cheek. “I told him to stay behind,” Alicia says.

“So Morgan takes orders from you now?” Al teases.

“Morgan got you to crash a plane,” Alicia reminds. “Maybe we need to reconsider who we’re listening to.”

Al grins and shakes her head. “We should go back.”

“We _should_ ,” Alicia agrees. “But I think the others can wait a few extra minutes.”

All the tension leaves Al’s body the moment Alicia’s lips touch hers, and everything just feels…right. Al lets Alicia be the one to pull back, so maybe the others are going to be waiting more than just a few extra minutes. When Alicia does finally decide to pull back – more out of the need to breathe than anything else – Al’s the first to speak.

“Szewczek-Przygocki.”

Alicia laughs, and her eyes search Al’s face curiously. “What?” Alicia says. She keeps her arms loosely around Al’s neck, not daring to let her wander far.

“Szewczek-Przygocki,” Al repeats. “It’s my last name. I had two parents with Polish names who insisted on double-barreling.”

Alicia smiles, but her eyebrows pull together in confusion. “You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Al laughs. “Never been better.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kinda weird?”

Al laughs and ducks out of the hold Alicia has on her neck. She slings her bag over her shoulder before she answers, “Yeah, but it’s a compliment.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Al says. “They could call me boring instead.”

“Well, you’re not even close to boring,” Alicia says. She holds her hand out. “Come on.”

Al holds Alicia’s hand gingerly, unsure of if the wound beneath the bandage still hurts her or not. Alicia brings Al back to the truck stop, but there are now about twenty kids running around the place. Frankly, Al’s beat even though the day’s barely getting started, so she finds herself a quiet spot in the back to set up a bed and try to rest. Alicia, of course, drops whatever she’s supposed to be doing to help the group and sits up with Al. As tired as Al’s body feels, her mind’s wide awake. So she lies there in her quiet corner, Alicia sitting cross-legged beside her. Al thinks about nothing and everything all at once as Alicia combs her fingers through her hair and mumbles something about Al needing a haircut.

“You know when you tried to kill me?” Al asks abruptly.

“Oh God, _this_ again?” Alicia gripes.

“Hear me out,” Al says, lifting her eyes up to Alicia’s face.

Alicia sighs but nods. “Which time?”

“The time you almost succeeded.”

“If I was smart, I would’ve thrown you out of the van instead of trying to push you.”

“You weren’t strong enough then or now,” Al snorts. “But that’s not – do you remember what we talked about later that night?”

Alicia shrugs and strokes her fingers through Al’s hair again. “Yeah. It’s kind of hazy. I mean, it was the middle of the night.”

Al takes a deep breath. “I asked you how many times you’d been in love.”

“Oh,” Alicia says. “Yeah. I remember. We both said four.”

A smile flickers on Al’s face. “Yeah.”

“Why are you thinking about that right now?”

“I’m just thinking.”

Alicia hums. She pulls her fingers from Al’s hair and trails her fingertips down Al’s face to her jaw then down to her neck. Alicia’s fingers press against the chain but don’t go any further.

“You know,” Alicia says softly, “at the time, I didn’t lie. It was four, but, um…actually, now I think it’s five.”

Their eyes lock, and Alicia manages a tentative smile. Al reaches up, takes Alicia’s hand in her own, and smiles back.

“I mean,” Alicia stammers, “I know we, uh, just like fuck and there’s no feelings or anything, but –”

“Alicia.”

“Yeah?”

Al smiles, squeezes Alicia’s hand a little tighter. “Shut up, okay? I love you too.”

Alicia relaxes and brings Al’s hand up to her lips. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Alicia nods. “Just promise me you won’t run off like that again. I need you here.”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to just write a transcript of 5x05 even though this was very much based in that episode and its plotline, so I kept some of my favorite pieces of the episode (though regrettably not all, including the part where Al says the network is dead and calls Isabelle sweetheart, and many more) and touched up other areas where I saw fit.
> 
> Though I am mainly an Al/Alicia kind of girl, I do very much like Al/Isabelle as well, so I'm also working on something to stand on its own that'll focus on Al/Isabelle rather than Al/Alicia. Since I love 5x05, that piece will also be set in that episode but more as what I would've rather seen. I'm hoping to get that out soon, but I believe I'm also going to continue Breathe, so we'll see.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and I'll respond as quickly as I can!


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